HUNKY DORY

culturebookmmx.com

2012-02-15T19:11:27Z

I've moved to my own on-line magzine. http://culturebookmmx.com

I't s free for a limited time. Goodbye to all the spam comments and thank you to Live Journal for 5 years of awesomeness.

Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur

2012-01-01T19:30:16Z

This will be my final blog of 2011, or my first blog of 2012, depending on your point of view.

I haven’t blogged since September 14th, not cuz I been uninspired but because we haven’t had ANY working Interweb service in our home since the month of October began. Honest Injun!

October seems like a long time ago. Time is relative. The more routine life gets, the faster the weeks seem to fly by. The more that changes day to day, the more variety and novel encounters: the slower the months seems to pass. It makes sense. Science has no enemies but the ignorant. Ergo, the more new things a person experiences, the longer he or she lives.

The Bravo Three: My Mother, My Older Brother and Myself – we are now in our Palm Springs Ramada Inn Hotel/Motel Holidaze Inn. I’ve seen my mother and brother nearly everyday for the past two years. I’ve been back in the US now for two (2) whole years and it seems like forever since I been back. I've slept in the same room everyday and I haven't had much excitement, but I've learned many new things. Baked Fresh Daily!

Happy New Year! See You again on the Chinese New Year January 23, 2012! I’m ready to usher in the new Year of the Dragon with my website which be launched on that day. I can’t wait. Here's a pic from where we dined out the last night.

"Even a God finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time."

Bravo

Imagine If You Were a Rock Star

2011-09-10T11:53:27Z

TWO QUESTIONS involving ROCK STARS

I would hate to be the Rock Star who yells out the wrong city name he’s playing in.

“We love you Chicago!” “Yer in Cleveland, you MFer!” “We love being back in Liverpool!” “This is Bournemouth, you git!” What’s funny is, it works with most any two cities. “We love you Edinburgh!” “This is Newcastle! Throw yer beer at that tosser!” "We can't wait to come back to Minninapolis!” “Ce Montreal, bouffon!” I can totally see someone like Keith Moon, or Ozzy back in his Sabbath days, doing that. Not to diss or besmirch the town, just cuz they’ve been so continuously drunk and high and on the road, tour bus planes trains and automobiles; that all the hotels start to look the same, and they have no idea what city they are in, and on one particular day, they just don’t care to find out.

Perhaps before one Who show in the 1970's, some night when Roger was out of it. Supposing, Roger asked Keith right before they went on stage, “Where the fuck are we again, mate?” And Keith told him the wrong city for a prank. It’s something Keith Moon might do, just to have a laugh. I imagine Keith Moon never passed on an opportunity to laugh, which surely rubbed most people the wrong way. I can empathize. I’m cut from the same cloth. I think some famous singer calling out the wrong city name would be the funniest thing in the world, and I’m sure Keith Moon would have thought it funny, too. I wouldn’t even need drugs or alcohol to laugh. I laugh even when I imagine it happening!

Here’s the JOKE, the first Million Dollar question. Feel free to answer in the comments section. If this happened in YOUR city: If you were at some stadium show watching your favorite Rock Star and he or she, for whatever reason, yelled out the wrong city name.

Would you...

Think that was hilarious! And look forward to seeing it on Youtube to relive the laughter.

Get really angry that your guitar hero kind of dissed your city. Would it make you mad enough to make you wanna boycott this guitar queero, to quote South Park? I’m sure many residents of Denver would do just that, if Bono said, "We love you Detroit!" by mistake. The local papers would have a field day. "He said LA, but this is clearly Lake Arrowhead!"

Let's take it a step further, while we are on the subject of Rock Stars. If YOU were a famous Rock Star like Axel Rose, with a one-of-a-kind sound and unique look. I once saw a guy, on Halloween night, in Pusan South Korea – a Canadian or American guy. He came dressed as Axel Rose. He came 3rd in a contest. He didn't sing for money or nothing, but everyone knew at first glance. All night, everybody called him: Axel! Actually, I wasn't even there. I saw pictures of him on the Pusan Web's photos from Halloween 2008. He did win 3rd prize. He may have sang a song.

Anywho! This Second Million Dollar question is: If YOU were a famous rock star in the US and the World, and you went to the island of Cebu in the Philippines, and you saw a guy dressed just like you doing YOUR act, on stage with a Pinay band playing your tunes. You learn that this guy makes a boatload of money doing You. You learn of others in the world making heaps of dough, doing your act in small cities across America and all over the World. Even in Tokyo, there is a Japanese you! In LA and New York and Chicago – there’s a Tribute band doing You. Perhaps yer old and washed up and don’t look like You used to, but they are currently making money doing You, playing you.

The question is, if while on vacation in Cebu, taking in the sites with your lady, relaxing in a bar with live music; even in Hollywood – if you saw a guy impersonating you as his job to make money.

Would you...

1. Think it’s cool and party with the guy. Invite him to your table during his break. Drink Tanduay Rum him and say that you are flattered. Even go up on stage and do a song with him. He's gotta recongnize you, even if no one else does.

OR

2. Demand that he stop. Cease and desist, you call out in word and action. Demand that ALL of them either pay you some kind of Royalty, or stop making money off of your likeness. And when you can’t stop them, you stay bitter about it.

Or both. First, party with the guy. Second, stick him for all you can, or for what is rightfully yours; however you choose to see it.

It’s a fair question. As fair as any other hypothetical quandries I can think of. ME? I’m a Number One guy on both accounts. Which would you choose, the Red Pill or the Blue?

In closing, if any comedians or other people want to use my Rock Star City Mistake Joke for their act -- the first line of this piece is pretty tight -- or if any body wants to take any other hip line I write on my blog, feel free. In this age of information, no idea belongs to any single person. It's about time people realize that. This private property concept has really gotten out of hand. There are more important things than making money and protecting intellectual property. Like laughing.

Leave a comment, please.

21 Months Gone with the Wind

2011-08-28T09:51:40Z

21 Months is the amount of time I’ve LIVED in America, since my 13.5 year Asian hiatus. From 1996 - 2009, any time I spent in the US was vacation time. And I couldn’t wait to get home to the other side of the Pacific Ocean!

We are at present in August 2011. One year ago, my first book, Culturebook was published. One might say, in keeping with the Kinko’s is not a publisher spirit, that my book was barely a notch above Kinkos! That may be true. I did self-publish my book, which any fool with 1800 dollars and a computer can do, but I was pleased with the outcome. It takes a wise fool, or sophmore, to churn out 275 pages that is a notch above drivel. Those few who have read my Culturebook have enjoyed it, I hear. Most people who have started my book have finished it; so as a reader, that says a lot. Only one person has told me, “If it weren’t YOU who wrote the book, I would’ve stopped reading.”

Furthermore, if anyone should desire a copy, I have plenty left. I see copies, boxes of them, everyday, in my home. I like that. My book is truly underground. While many can discount my Culturebook as NOT REALLY PUBLISHED, I’ve read a mountain of books in my life and while mine is worthy of severe criticism and possible lashings, I think it is as enjoyable as the best of them in its genre. Culturebook looks like a book, reads like a book. I’m happy with what I have created.

Here is my point: I’ve been back in LA for 21 months now, back Living in America like the James Brown song, and I still have no steady job or steady girl. Really there is nothing steady about my life. I’m free, living off the fat of the family. My responsibilities are minimal and I have entire days free and clear with nothing pressing and nowhere I need to be. How do I feel about that?

Other than the fact that I'm not getting any, as the expression goes, I’d say everything is fine. Still, I see my lack of female companionship more along the lines of: no women = no stress. No bills to pay equals no stress; and with no money it's hard to date, so I just accept my life, which is easy to do. I’m trying to keep my life in this no-stress-zone for as long as I can. Like all things, my current lap of luxury, comfortable life is sure to end. One day in the not to distant future, my heated pool and workless days will be gone like the wind, like my former cushy life in Asia.

At this time, I consider myself a student. I may not ‘work’ for a living, but I feel as though, if I were to get a job, I would be wasting a valuable opportunity. And what is that opportunity? The opportunity to write a great novel! I haven’t written fiction in years. I prefer documentary films to dramas these days as well. Perhaps that says something about dramas currently being made, so many remakes of classics.

Still, as a writer of non-fiction, I see writing fiction as a challenge. I've learned to play drums like my idol Keith Moon in the last 21 months, I can write a Pulitzer Prize winning novel. Gotta dream big... I’m currently reading Gone With the Wind, which I’ve never read before. I’ve never even seen the movie! I don’t know the plot line. I know the line, “Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn!” from the movie. I know there is a scene where Rhett Butler, played by Clark Cable, removes his shirt, and he’s not wearing any undershirt. I know this because my parents would often mention that scene to me. According to my father, “Audiences gasped at that!”

This scene was relevant because, as a child, I did not like wearing an undershirt. I still don’t, which caused me to stand out even more than I already did, working in South Korea, cuz there, every single man in every single school or office wears an undershirt. I’m sure America was the same, once upon a time. My mother used to tell me, “Who do you think you are, Clark Cable?” Culture makes people do peculiar things.

So far, I really enjoy Margaret Mitchell’s story-telling. She is really descriptive. After 12 pages, I can totally see Scarlet O’hara. I know exactly what she looks like: that she is a green-eyed beauty with ample bosom and child-rearing hips (Mitchell never actually uses that expression); that she is petty, impetuous and conniving.

The copy I am reading is a paperback published in 1970, 41 years ago and 34 years after it was first published. It is 862 pages of thin, really small print, and a tad fragile, so I must be ginger with it. I know I should be out looking for a date, or a job, but I’m a student and I have to do my homework. My homework is reading this book, taking notes – there are so many words and phrases new to me, like the exclamations You can just Go to Hallifax! instead of Go to Hell! and God’s Nightgown! which I think is actually Irish, like Scarlett’s planter father. A Planter is what they called Plantation owners, which doesn't really make sense since the 'field hands' did all the planting, and all the picking.  After the ravage of Georgia, when Scarlett is left to run Tara Plantation after all the field hands have fled, even Mammy and the other house slaves feel that field work is beneath them.

On the subject of dating – If I were to meet a girl, say today, or any day for the last 21 months, I could totally use the George Costanza line, “My name is George. I’m unemployed and I live with my parents.” Except my father is dead and my name is not George.

Ellen’s life was not easy, nor was it happy, but she did not expect life to be easy, and if it was not happy, that was woman’s lot. It was a man’s world, and she accepted it as such. The man owned the property, and the woman managed it. The man took the credit for the management, and the woman praised his cleverness. The man roared like a bull when a splinter was in his finger, and the woman muffled the moans of childbirth, lest she disturb him. Men were rough of speech and often drunk. Women ignored the lapses of speech and put the drunkards to bed without bitter words. Men were rude and outspoken, women were always kind, gracious and forgiving. – Ellen is the mother of Scarlett O’Hara

I’m very much enjoying Gone With the Wind. After 5 days I just hit page 400. Half-way home. It is their Southern Comfort way of Life that is gone with the wind… Drama is about people changing. Scarlett begins the novel a dainty, spoiled brat; and in the last hundred pages, she delivered her sister-in-law's baby AND she just shot a Yankee in the face killing him right in her living room.  A lone Union Soldier entered her house alone, intent on robbing them and probably raping her. Before he has the chance to do or say anything, BANG! Then she takes her sister-in-law Melanie's top to wrap the head in, so blood won't drip on the lawn and alert people of the killing, as she drags the corpse into the yard to bury it, while Melanie covers her breasts in shame, after they riffled through his pockets and retrieved a wallet full of Union Greenbacks, Confederate Bills and gold coins. I wonder if that's going to be in the movie.

I've got 400 pages to go! I can't remember the last time I was this excited. I can't wait to create a novel somewhere in the ball park of Gone with the Wind.

It's Saturday night. I just took a break to watched Paul McCartney on Saturday Night Live with Paul Rudd hosting. It was a repeat from last year 2010.

The Beatles changed music and helped shape a generation. Lots of musicians and artists and writers ‘changed the world’, such as Elvis, John Lennon, James Brown, and others. They are all dead. On Saturday Night Live, Paul McCartney and his band played more than 4 songs, unheard of on Saturday Night Live, but given SNL’s recent dearth of decent material, it wasn’t such a bad idea. They performed Jet, Band on the Run, A Day in the Line, which segued into Give Peace a Chance which ended with the crowd singing along with just drums; and the closing credits rolled over the band doing Get Back.

Paul McCartney turns 70 next year and he can still rock like a youth. Keith Moon, born four years after McCartney, died when he was only 32. I only mention this because Moon spent his last evening alive on this Earth with the McCartney’s.

Moon had been a resident of Los Angeles, but he and his girlfriend Annette flew to London to be McCartney’s guest at the British premier of The Buddy Holly Story, a great 1978 movie starring Gary Busey as the Lubbock, Texas rocker. Buddy Holly is another musician who changed the face of music; and who is also no longer with us.

After the movie, Moon and Annette dined with the McCartney’s in Covent Garden. Then each couple retired to their respective flats. Moon and Annette were staying in the house of Harry Nilsson. Moon had been prescribed Clomethiazole to counter his alcohol withdrawals, on account of he was ‘trying to quit’ booze. The coroner found 32 pills in his system – 26 undigested. The 6 digested pills had been enough to kill him.

Paul McCartney is a well-known marijuana smoker. If a pot smoker can spend 50 years of his life on stage making music that touches lives so deeply as to shape generations, how can pot not be legal? To think that 47 years ago this year, Paul McCartney playing alongside John Lennon and George Harrison and backed by Ringo Starr on drums, first came to America and played the Ed Sullivan Show and Carnegie Hall in February 1964. They’d been touring the UK, on stage nearly every night the entire year 1963.

These are the Beatles Tour dates for 13 months, 5 years before I was born:

TOUR OF SCOTLAND, 1963 3 January Two Red Shoes, Elgin 4 January Town Hall, Dingwall 5 January Museum Hall, Bridge of Allan 6 January Beach Ballroom, Aberdeen UK DATES, January 1963 10 January Grafton Rooms, Liverpool 11 January Cavern Club, Liverpool 11 January Plaza Ballroom, Old Hill 12 January Invicta Ballroom, Chatham 14 January Civic Hall, Wirral 17 January Cavern Club, Liverpool 17 January Majestic Ballroom, Birkenhead 18 January Floral Hall, Morecambe 19 January Town Hall, Whitchurch 20 January Cavern Club, Liverpool 23 January Cavern Club, Liverpool 24 January Assembly Hall, Flintshire 25 January Co-operative Hall, Darwen 26 January El Rio Club, Macclesfield 26 January King’s Hall, Stoke-on-Trent 27 January Three Coins Club, Manchester 28 January Majestic Ballroom, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 30 January Cavern Club, Liverpool 1 February Assembly Rooms, Tamworth 1 February Maney Hall, Sutton Coldfield HELEN SHAPIRO TOUR PART 1, 1963 2 February Gaumont, Bradford BREAK IN TOUR 3 February Cavern Club, Liverpool 4 February Cavern Club, Liverpool RESUME TOUR 5 February Gaumont, Doncaster 6 February Granada, Bedford 7 February Regal, Kirkgate 8 February ABC, Carlisle 9 February Empire, Sunderland BREAK IN TOUR 12 February Azena Ballroom, Sheffield 12 February Astoria Ballroom, Oldham 13 February Majestic Ballroom, Hull 14 February Locarno Ballroom, Liverpool 15 February Ritz, Birmingham 16 February Carfax Assembly, Oxford 18 February Queen’s Hall, Widness 19 February Cavern Club, Liverpool 20 February Swimming Baths, Docanster 21 February Majestic Ballroom, Birkenhead 22 February Oasis Club, Manchester HELEN SHAPIRO TOUR PART 2 23 February Granada, Mansfield 24 February Coventry Theatre, Coventry 26 February Gaumont, Taunton 27 February Rialto, York 28 February Granada, Shrewsbury 1 March Odeon, Southport 2 March City Hall, Sheffield 3 March Gaurnont, Hanley UK DATES, March 1963 4 March Plaza Ballroom, St. Helens 7 March Elizabethan Ballroom, Nottingham 8 March The Royal Hall, Harrogate TOMMY ROE/CHRIS MONTEZ TOUR, 1963 9 March Granada, East Ham 10 March Hippodrome, Birmingham 12 March Granada, Bedford 13 March Rialto, York 14 March Gaumont, Wolverhampton 15 March Colston Hall, Bristol 16 March City Hall, Sheffield 17 March Embassy, Peterborough 18 March Regal, Gloucester 19 March Regal, Cambridge 20 March ABC, Romford 21 March ABC, Croydon 22 March Gaumont, Doncaster 23 March City Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 24 March Empire, Liverpool 26 March Granada, Mansfield 27 March ABC, Northampton 28 March ABC, Exeter 29 March Odeon, Lewisham 30 March Guildhall, Portsmouth 31 March De Montfort Hall, Leicester

UK DATES, Spring 1963 4 April Roxburgh Hall, Stowe 5 April Swimming Baths, Leyton, London 6 April Pavilion Gardens, Buxton 7 April Savoy Ballroom, Portsmouth 9 April Gaumont State Cinema, Kilburn, London 10 April Majestic Ballroom, Birkenhead 11 April Co-operative Hall, Middleton 12 April Cavern Club, Liverpool 15 April Riverside Dancing Club, Tenbury Wells 17 April Majestic Ballroom, Luton 18 April Swimming Sound ’63, Royal Albert Hall, London 19 April King’s Hall, Stoke-on-Trent 20 April Mersey View Pleasure Grounds, Warrington 21 April NME Poll Winners Concert, Empire Pool, Wembley 21 April Pigalle Club, Piccadilly, London 23 April Floral Hall, Southport 24 April Majestic Ballroom, Finsbury Park, London 25 April Fairfield Hall, Croydon 26 April Music Hall, Shrewsbury 27 April Memorial Hall, Northwich 11 May Imperial Ballroom, Nelson 14 May Rink Ballroom, Sunderland 15 May Royalty Theatre, Chester 17 May Grosvenor Rooms, Norwich ROY ORBISON/BEATLES TOUR, 1963 18 May Adelphi, Slough 19 May Gaumont, Hanley 20 May Gaumont, Southampton 22 May Gaumont, Ipswich 23 May Odeon, Nottingham 24 May Granada, Walthamstow 25 May City Hall, Sheffield 26 May Empire, Liverpool 28 May Gaumont, Worcester 29 May Rialto, York 30 May Odeon, Manchester 31 May Odeon, Southend-on-Sea 1 June Granada, Tooting 2 June Hippodrome, Brighton 3 June Granada, Woolwich 4 June Town Hall, Birmingham 5 June Odeon, Leeds 7 June Odeon, Glasgow 8 June City Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 9 June King George's Hall, Blackburn UK DATES, Summer 1963 10 June Pavilion, Bath 12 June Grafton Rooms, Liverpool 13 June Palace Theatre Club, Cheshire 13 June Southern Sporting Club, Manchester 14 June Tower Ballroom, New Brighton 15 June City Hall, Salisbury 16 June Odeon Cinema, Romford 21 June Odeon Cinema, Guildford 22 June Town Hall, Monmouthshire 25 June Astoria Ballroom, Middlesbrough 26 June Majestic Ballroom, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 28 June Queen’s Hall, Leeds 30 June ABC Cinema, Great Yarmouth 5 July Plaza Ballroom, Old Hill 6 July Memorial Hall, Northwich 7 July ABC Theatre, Blackpool 8-13 July Winter Gardens, Margate 14 July ABC Theatre, Blackpool 19-20 July Ritz Ballroom, Flintshire 21 July Queen’s Theatre, Blackpool 22-27 July Odeon Theatre, Weston-super-Mare 28 July ABC Cinema, Great Yarmouth 31 July Imperial Ballroom, Nelson 2 August Grafton Rooms, Liverpool 3 August Cavern Club, Liverpool 4 August Queen’s Theatre, Blackpool 5 August Abbotsfield Park, Urmston 6-7 August The Springfield Ballroom, Jersey, Channel Islands 8 August Candie Gardens, Guernssey, Channel Islands 9-10 August The Springfield Ballroom, Jersey, Channel Islands 11 August ABC Theatre, Blackpool 12-17 August Odeon Cinema, Caernarvonshire 18 August Princess Theatre Torquay 19-24 August Gaumont Cinema, Bournemouth 25 August ABC Cinema, Blackpool 26-31 August Odeon Cinema, Southport 4 September Gaumont Cinema, Worcester 5 September Gaumont Cinema, Taunton 6 September Odeon Cinema, Luton 7 September Fairfield Hall, Croydon 8 September ABC Theatre, Blackpool 13 September Public Hall, Preston 14 September Memorial Hall, Northwich 15 September Great Pop Prom, Royal Albert Hall, London BEATLES MINI-TOUR OF SCOTLAND, 1963 5 October Concert Hall, Glasgow 6 October Carlton, Kirkcaldy 7 October Caird Hall, Dundee UK DATES, October 1963 11 October Trentham Gardens, Trentham 13 October London Palladium, London 15 October Floral Hall, Southport 19 October Pavilion Gardens Ballroom, Buxton BEATLES TOUR OF SWEDEN, 1963 25 October Sundsta-aulan, Karlstad 26 October Kungliga Hallen, Stockholm 27 October Cirkus, Goteborg 28 October Borashallen, Boras 29 October Sporthallen, Eskilstuna BEATLES AUTUMN TOUR, 1963 1 November Odeon, Cheltenham 2 November City Hall, Sheffield 3 November Odeon, Leeds BREAK IN TOUR 4 November Royal Variety Show, Prince of Wales Theatre, London RESUME TOUR 5 November Adelphi, Slough 6 November ABC, Northampton 7 November Adelphi, Dublin 8 November Ritz, Belfast 9 November Granada, East Ham 10 November Hippodrome, Birmingham 13 November ABC, Plymouth 14 November ABC, Exeter 15 November Colston Hall, Bristol 16 November Winter Gardens, Bournemouth 17 November Coventry Theatre, Coventry 19 November Gaumont, Wolverhampton 20 November ABC, Ardwick 21 November ABC, Carlisle 22 November Globe, Stockton-on-Tees 23 November City Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 24 November ABC, Hull 26 November Regal, Cambridge 27 November Rialto, York 28 November ABC, Lincoln 29 November ABC, Huddersfield 30 November Empire, Sunderland 1 December De Montfort Hall, Leicester BREAK IN TOUR 2 December Grosvenor House Hotel, London RESUME TOUR 3 December Guildhall, Portsmouth BREAK IN TOUR 7 December Empire Theatre, Liverpool RESUME TOUR 7 December Odeon, Liverpool 8 December Odeon, Lewisham 9 December Odeon, Southend-on-Sea 10 December Gaumont, Doncaster 11 December Futurist, Scarborough 12 December Odeon, Nottingham 13 December Gaumont, Southampton END OF TOUR 14 December Wimbledon Palais, Wimbledon, London

THE BEATLES CHRISTMAS SHOW, 1963 21 December Christmas Show Preview, Gaumont Cinema, Bradford 22 December Christmas Show Preview, Empire Theatre, Liverpool 24 December The Beatles Christmas Show, Astoria Cinema, London 26-28 December The Beatles Christmas Show, Astoria Cinema, London 30-31 December The Beatles Christmas Show, Astoria Cinema, London 1964 1-4 January The Beatles Christmas Show, Astoria Cinema, London 5-11 January The Beatles Christmas Show, Astoria Cinema, London END SHOW 12 January London Palladium, London
VISIT TO FRANCE, 1964 15 January Cinema Cyrano, Versailles 16 January – 4 February Olympia Theatre, Paris VISIT TO USA, 1964 9 February Ed Sullivan Show, CBS Television Studios, New York City 11 February Washington Coliseum, Washington DC 12 February Carnegie Hall, New York City 16 February Ed Sullivan Show, Deauville Hotel, Miami

The Upside of My Speeding Ticket

2011-07-29T06:35:49Z

or
May or May not Be a True Story

the student as nigger… is the title of a non-fiction 142 page paperback book, first published in August 1969; followed by a second printing September 1970; then, never again. Once upon a time, this was a Banned Book in the USA. Whatever that means… You don’t hear much about this book. As if it never existed.

Originally a single essay, the student as nigger · Stories and Essays · by Jerry Farber critically analyzes the American Education System. Until yesterday, I had never in my life, seen a single copy of this book, much less read it; nor had I read OF or heard OF this book anywhere; nor have I spoken with a single person in my life who has read this book, or has known of this book; except for one (1) high school student, whom I once knew long ago. 26 years ago to be exact.

Here’s the story of how I came to know this individual called Harriet; and subsequently, this book unforgettably entitled: the student as nigger by Jerry Farber.

By 1985, when I was a robust, not too tall, 17 year old Catholic High school student, I had already fully developed a passion for literature; the big three for me: Kurt Vonnegut, Ernest Hemmingway, Ayn Rand – starting around age 15, I set out to read every novel, short story, essay or play each author had penned. As a teen, I didn’t care much for genre or poetry or non-fiction. I liked specific authors. That conscious pursuit of devouring the works of my Big Three, and others, lasted through college. I’ve twice read, cover to cover, The Sun also Rises – first time age 15, then again age 30. I feel a re-read coming on. I feel the line: “the sun Also rises!” to be an apt explanatory quip describing my deliberate celibacy for the last 17 months, since I’ve returned to LA from Asia. I’ve read Slaughterhouse Five three times, at different times in my life. I’ve visited Kilgore Trout on the planet of Tralfamadore. I’ve asked in wonder, “Who is John Galt?”

Point is, when I was 17, I had a friend called Sleeve, who also loved the same authors as me and we’d trade books and introduce each other to new authors, imbibe the horticulture; dabble with psychedelics. Sleeve had long hair. We went to a LOT of big name rock concerts in the mid 1980’s with my older brother and other 1980’s high school friends. Sleeve’s my older brother’s age, a year older than me; which doesn’t mean much when you are in your 40’s – like we are now – but when you are 12 and 13, it makes a big difference. Sleeve has been my older brother’s best friend since 7^th grade Beverly Hills Catholic School, now called Good Shepherd. I haven’t met Sleeve without my brother, or called him socially since 1986, but I did see him on the 4^th of July 2011 at my brother’s house. Sleeve visits my brother regularly, to this day.

When I was 17 and Sleeve was 18, he had a friend that, looking back, was the first Out of the Closet lesbian I’d ever meet in my life. Her name was Harriet and she was an American girl, a big mix of ethnicities, taut brown skin; thin dreads. Harriet was really cool. She reminded me of the song Karma Chameleon personified, even though I wasn’t a fan of Culture Club; or ANY – of what they then called – New Wave music, now widely known as 80’s Music. I was a rocker, like my older brother and Sleeve. I remember the first time I saw Harriet; that song, which was right popular at the time, popped into my head. Not the music, just the title, Karma Chameleon.

Harriet, too, was an avid reader for an 18 year old high school student, who was planning to take her Girlfriend to her prom. We talked books. It was during one of these conversation regarding books and authors that Harriet mentioned the student as nigger, a book I’d never heard of and have never heard of since. I remember the first time I met Harriet with Sleeve, at the house of Girlfriend, another Fairfax student and avid reader.

Girlfriend’s Dad was a professional musician: singer/guitarist bandleader. He was there in the house with us. “He’s popular in Arizona,” Harriet’s blonde, blue eyed girlfriend said with a laugh. I never really got a good look at the Dad; but apparently, Girlfriend told us as we discussed books, “My dad read me Cat’s Cradle when I was 11!” and that had got her started on her path to reading; kind of like me with Slaughterhouse 5, I remember thinking at the time. I never got a look at the father’s face. Hi ho.

I’d thought that was odd: MY Father would demand to meet any person, friend or whoever came over to visit. My Dad would get hopping mad if he ever came to my bedroom and a friend was over that hadn’t greeted him. It was a well known fact among all our high school friends. In my Dad’s words, “If You Come to my House, Say HELLO!” – Like Jerry Seinfeld’s Uncle Leo, but MUCH louder. All my life, visitors were obliged to say Hi to my Dad. It was Your (my) responsibility to seek out my father in the house and greet him; cuz if he saw you First, he’d admonish you loudly for your supreme rudeness. “Have Some Respect!” He’d shout in my friends faces’ till they apologized or cried. He’d later ask. “Edeek, why are your friends so rude?”

Harriet’s girlfriend’s Dad had no problem ignoring Sleeve and I. He had no reason to meet us or greet us. He also seemed cool with his daughter and Harriet’s ‘Partnership’ arrangement. Harriet was responding to Dad’s query as he walked down the hall, “What if the school won’t let you take my daughter to the prom?”

“Fairfax High!?!” Harriet called out loudly cuz girlfriend’s Dad was now in the other room. “Who are THEY to tell me who I can and can not take to MY prom? What are THEY going to do?” This is what Harriet was saying, the day I first met her. Harriet planned to wear a tux to her prom. I never found out what became of all that. Or what Girlfriend’s dad really thought of his daughter’s love interest.

I don’t know what it was about Harriet. She had the chiseled face of a model. Harriet was old in her mind, all mellow and mature and knowledgeable and still in high school. It wasn’t just that Harriet was the way she was; you got the impression that she’d been like that for many years already. Harriet spoke in a way that made you say, “Okay!” and feel good about yourself.

Harriet told me about the book, the student as nigger, the first time I met her at her girlfriend’s house, or the night of the Grateful Dead show at Irvine Meadows Ampitheater, the second time I met Harriet. I can’t remember which time it was; there were only two times in my life I’d ever see Harriet. Harriet has been the only person in my life ever to speak of this book in my presence. She HIGHLY recommended it, “If you can find it,” I remember her saying. It’s funny what the human brain remembers.

Buenos Aires 2007

In all the bookshops in all the world, that I’ve browsed, I’ve never seen Jerry Farber’s book in any. Since the age of 17 I have sought this book out. I’ve worked in bookstores. I’ve visited Used Bookstores in cities around the world, from Buenos Aires to Fukuoka, from SF to Brooklyn. I lived in Berkeley. We had Moe’s, Shakespeare’s, Cody’s and even more bookstores like Crown and B Dalton and Doubleday, now deceased like so many others. I’ve spent my entire life regularly visiting new and used bookstores, since the age of 17: the age I had my first steady girl; had my first had non-familial responsibilities, the Dawn of my leaving for College…Adult Education!

I have none of these things now in 2011. I’m 43 years of age. I’m unemployed, no girlfriend and I live at home with my mother. I drive my mother’s Cadillac Car. Last September, I got a speeding ticket. I took the case to court; but unfortunately…I fought the law and the law won. The fine amounted to $371 or 33 hours Community Service. I chose Door Number Two; a.k.a., the blue pill.

I’m currently doing Community Service, as a result, working at Out of the Closet Thrift Store on Pico Blvd, here in West LA, run largely by homosexuals; and which donates 90% of its revenue to AIDS Research and other AIDS related causes. We give out free condoms. It’s been a wonderful week working here. I love the people and the vibe and the freedom to just not be trying to make money all the time, like over at Goodwill, where I was originally placed. I got sacked after 8 hours for insubordination. They transferred me here! Here at Out of the Closet, the music has been great, and as an unemployed writer, I forgot how good it feels to work every day, be on my feet, having constant contact with laid back people.

It was HERE at Out of the Closet thrift store, in their book section, that I found this 40 year old copy of a long forgotten book entitled, the student as nigger by Jerry Farber: a book I’d never before seen; a thin paperback, slightly brittle and discolored, but still fully readable. The price was 50 cents, but Leo the long hair Latino heavy metal guitar playing cashier let me have it free. I guess that is the way it should be. Thanks Leo. Thank you, Harriet, for the introduction. And a big Thank You to Out of the Closet.

Jerry Farber, the author, thanks the Grateful Dead in his book’s Acknowledgements, along with many other individuals. None of whose names I recognize, except for Timothy Leary, who is famous for quitting his Professorship job at Harvard to preach the message: LSD is the only hope for human happiness.

If you’ve ever believed that modern American society were somehow like the movie, The Matrix, where people’s lives were really just a Fantasy construct implanted in people’s brains; while in reality, they were lying dormant, having their life sucked out of them by some dominant species (or in our case class) then I recommend reading studentasnigger. My last 3 Acid Trips all led me to believe that this “Fantasy Land Matrix” does, in fact, exist in the minds of most everyone – “Do Americans really believe we still have democratic elections? This book tells how this is done, in regard to American Education: The subjects and the teachers may change, but the methodologies for ALL classes are essentially the same. I quote Jerry Farber:

What is most likely to emerge from this 16-year molding and screening process?

Thoroughly schooled and ready for GM or IBM or the State Department, the graduate is a skilled, neat, disciplined worker with just enough initiative to carry out fairly complicated assignments, but not so much initiative that he will seriously question the assignment itself. He is affably but fiercely competitive with his peers and he is submissive to his superiors. In fact, as long as he has some respect from his peers and subordinates, he is willing to be almost naked of dignity in the eyes of his superiors; there is very little shit he will not eat if there is something to be gained by it. In asserting himself, he is moderate, even timid – except when he exercises the power of a great institution, when he himself is the superior, when he puts on some kind of real or figurative uniform. At that point he is likely to assume the sacerdotal mask that his teachers wore. At that point – when he becomes official – his jaw hardens.

These days, if you go on the INTERWEB, you can find the original essay at http://www.soilandhealth.org/03sov/0303critic/030301studentasnigger.html

Both Esquire Magazine and, subsequently, Wikipedia, call the student as nigger,

“The underground’s first classic.” Whatever that means…

You be the judge! Time to take our control of our resources!

God Bless America!

2011-07-07T07:11:18Z

I like Morgan Freeman, the American actor. “Red” from Shawshank – I can get almost anything, for a price. MF’s got a great voice. I saw a young version of him, singing in a bathtub, on Youtube, recently; excerpts from The Electric Company circa 1971 - 1977. For seven years, MF played Count Dracula on the comedy, variety, educational show for kids.

I heard Morgan Freeman’s deep soothing voice on a TV commercial the other night. It was a Visa commercial. Visa, the credit company, the company that buys you things and you pay them back; the company that -- without a word, just a swipe and a pin -- loans you money when you have none. Billions of dollars flow through Visa Cards worldwide each year, each month; each day. Millions of Americans rely heavily on their Visa cards for their survival: that is, their purchasing needs.

In this TV ad, which sounded more pleasant than most cacophonous commercials, on account of Freeman’s smooth locution, Visa was promoting their latest Sweepstakes 2011, for Visa users, whereby ONE lucky Visa card holder will get a free ticket to the Superbowl this year, and every year for the rest of his/her life. Wow!

How much is YOUR interest rate when you buy stuff using your Visa card? How much was your last penalty, hidden fee, etc?” If you are rich, and always pay your balance on time, or early; your rate is probably very low and you never pay any fees. Everyone else; so sorry. Company policy.

Funny thing, there MAY not even be NFL football this September, if the Millionaires and the Billionaires; that is, the players and the team owners don’t reach an agreement on salary caps and other issues: like players’ life long health insurance, who gets what share on profits of merchandising, and other issues now on the bargaining table.

Also, Los Angeles, my home city has not had a football team since the 1990’s. We had TWO teams, once upon a time. Now, none.

Plans to move a NFL team to LA are always in the works. Ari on Entourage was trying to spearhead one last season. It made for exciting TV watching. A major setback in bringing a team to LA is, WHERE will they play? California, and certainly LA have no money for bonds, so owners (and the City of LA) can have future generations of tax payers ultimately foot the bill. As a result, no construction has begun. Occasionally, I read about moves in this direction.

Recently, Farmer’s Insurance, has been in the works to begin building a new Football stadium in LA. That’s gonna cost a small fortune. How does an Insurance company have so much money?

Well, that’s pretty easy. Every driver, homeowner, business owner; anyone who owns anything of value; any responsible adult with dependants; anyone who ever wants to see a doctor – all of these Americans MUST have insurance, and pay high premiums.

Watch TV at any time of day, any channel; and there they are: Geico State Farms Prudential – their TV ads must cost as much (or more) to make as regular programming. I’m sure they cost a lot more than most Reality programs, which is almost all you get on TV these days anyway.

“Like a good neighbor…State Farm is there!” That’s a catchy tune. Perhaps the ‘artist’ who wrote that jingle makes as much money as Charlie Harper from 2 and ½ Men. In 30 Rock, Liz Lemmon and Matt Damon did a bit on Geico.

Liz: Is that also why you got so mad watching the Giants game?
Carol: No. That was because why does Geico have three different spokespeople?!? They have the caveman, the gecko and then the stack of money with eyeballs.
Liz: And the fake Rod Sterling guy.
Carol: Oh my god, right! Thank you.

So there you have it. How much do these commercials cost to make? How much did Visa pay Morgan Freeman for his eloquence? He probably earned more for that one commercial spot than he made for his entire 7 years on The Electric Company, entertaining kids and parents alike.

How much money will it cost to build a stadium; to satisfy NFL owners and players and agents; to give that little shed of hope to so many people who are so deep in debt? "Wow! The Superbowl for the rest of my life. I'm switching to Visa!"

If Americans were not in debt, Visa would not make any money. The deeper the debt, the more Visa, other Creditors, and the Banks make. Perhaps Jenna Maroney could make a backhanded compliment about usury lending. I can't.

Farmer’s Insurance doesn’t have TV commercials. They are saving their money to build a stadium. Meanwhile, my city, my state, my country is basically bankrupt, because of debt. How much money do we owe China? How many elementary schools, parks and libraries are scheduled to close down this year in the State of California? Plenty!

God Bless America! Maybe we all need to sneeze a little louder.

Coffee Pot Break is the name of my band

2011-07-06T08:41:04Z

Flibby Thurston Guitar/Vocals Bravo on Drums Chepe Escondido Bass/Vocals

Have you seen the little piggies?

2011-07-03T08:08:13Z

This is a story about Pigs

I believe in God. But we’ll get back to that.

I remember once, years ago, when I lived in SKorea, a native girl I dated for a year and a half, she told me, “I prefer pork to beef.” I’d never in my life heard someone opine that, but I had to agree: pork tastes better than beef. At the taco truck, I usually order carnitas or al pastór over carne asada. I’ve always had a thing for pigs. I put a family of pigs on rear cover of my Culturebook. I owned pigs, once upon a time; that is, my ex-wife and I bought some piglets that her grandmother raised on her farm in the Philippines.

We had a big Pig Party once, there in Baguio City back in year 2000. Many people attended. It took four men to hold the yelping sow down while they slit its throat and drained its blood into a pan to make a sausage called, Bloody Mary. They used every part of the pig, giving portions away to guests, but cooking the majority of it that day. So many varieties of eats were consumed that evening: sausages, adobo baboy, calderetta, bbq short ribs, hearty soup. That was a long time ago. These days, I eat meat no more than once or twice a week.

These days, since I don’t have a regular job, I sometimes assist my friend, Flibby the Carpenter, doing home repairs. We met at 10:30 am Friday in front of Chepe’s East LA house. We were scheduled to replace the grate in front of the house. Chepe’s house is on a hill and the house sits over a garage, so the grate is 20, 25 feet up from the driveway.

Chepe keeps a scaffolding unit assembled in the rear of his yard. First we dissembled it, then moved it and resembled it in front of the house. Next, we brought out a big ladder. Flibby is over 6 feet tall. Yet, I imagined; even if Flibby stood on the scaffolding, he would still be many feet short of the grate.

I wondered how the heck he was going to accomplish this task. Were we going to put the ladder ON the scaffolding? Was my job going to be, “Hold the ladder”?

Instead, Flibby said to me, “We need to get the grate, let’s take a ride.” For the next three hours we drove to stores that were NOT Home Depot, but were essentially Home Depot. In the truck, as we drove, Flib handed me a book called LA Bizzaro about interesting places in LA. It was very humorous and I began reading passages out loud. I came across an interesting landmark, one I knew not of, The Farmer John Factory in Vernon. Not LA city, but LA county, not far from Chepe’s house, actually. Chepe tells me on some days, he can smell the Farmer John slaughterhouse.

Vernon, CA is the headquarters of Farmer John: where they convert live pigs into its Brand sausage, sandwich meats, Dodger Dogs, and other pork products. On the outer walls of this abattoir is also where, spanning several city blocks, several murals stand: painted pictures of cartoonish pigs having fun, looking happy and enjoying life. The authors of LA Bizzaro humorously quip, “This mural practice should extend to other venues. Wouldn’t that be great if on the walls of prisons were painted murals of inmates happily reading and lifting weights; instead of being gang raped by skinheads with swastika tattoos, which is what really goes on there.” I’m paraphrasing.

In the book, LA Bizzaro, I saw pictures of the mural. How I longed to see this mural live and in person! I began to read about the mural in the book. The writers informed me, “The original artist died before the mural’s completion. He fell off the scaffolding and plunged to his death!” I’m paraphrasing again.

The point is, I can’t remember the last time, if ever in my life, I assembled a scaffolding. I surely can’t remember the last time I read about scaffoldings.   Yet, in the last hour, I’d not only assembled one, but I also read about somebody, a painter of pigs, falling of a scaffolding to his death! I began to dread the job I was about to do. As we drove, amidst my worry, I fell asleep.

In the end, we couldn’t find the proper sized grate. We drove to Cerritos. We drove to Alhambra. We drove to Pomona. We never found the proper sized grate.

When we returned to Chepe’s house, it was already 2:30 pm. Chepe was there and he wanted to have a band practice. It was too late to do any work. Turns out, in visiting not Home Depots, Flibby had noticed hydraulic lift rentals for $100 a day, so Chepe and Flibby decided that, sometime next week, they would rent a lift; and in doing so, not need me. Flibby paid me $20 dollars for my time driving around with him. They would change the grate another day. All in all, Win-Win.

Right about that time, our new friend Gnat showed up at Chepe’s to jam with us. Gnat is, kind of, our second guitar player. This would actually be the FIRST time we all played together, so I can’t say whether or not Gnat is officially in our band, cuz it’s too soon to tell. We four were standing in Chepe’s yard. It was a hot, summer day, nearing the 90s. I don’t know Gnat that well. We’ve only met once before. Gnat wore a tee shirt and right on her arm I could see it. She wears a tattoo of a pig on her arm.


Not just any pig, but the Butcher pig that I used to see in every butcher section in every market in SKorea for the decade I lived there. Pork is cheap in SKorea. Beef is expensive. As a result, pork is consumed a LOT more than beef in SKorea.

You don’t see this pic too often at Ralph’s or other American supermarkets these days; but I’m sure, once up on a time, that was a standard pic in every supermarket’s butcher section, showing all the cuts on a pig. Gnat’s tattoo pig didn’t have the names of each cut, just the lines marking each cut.

Once upon a time, beginning in the colonial days of the USA, till the hamburger craze starting in the 1950’s with the diners, waitresses on roller skates, etc., pork was the number one meat consumed in America. By the 1960’s beef had replaced pork as #1. And that was largely the result of McDonalds and other new Fast Food chains selling disposable meals: mostly hamburgers and cheeseburgers. I learned this fact from the book, Fast Food Nation.

Beef remained the #1, most consumed meat in the US, until McDonald’s came out with the McNugget and big boneless breast meat first became available in supermarkets in the 1980’s. That, plus the absence of beef consumption by so many so called ‘vegetarians’ who didn’t actually stop eating meat, just Red Meat, caused Chicken to become #1. Pork has tried to make a comeback, riding on the media tag, “The other white meat.” As soon as I saw Gnat’s tattoo, I remember thinking, “Gnat’s gonna fit right into our band.”

I remember…long ago when I was married to that woman from Baguio City, PI, my ex-wife’s mother, the daughter of the woman who raised our pigs in Pangasinan – my mother-in-law said to me once. “A pig is smaller than a cow, but you can get more edible meat from a pig, then you can from a cow.” I don’t know if that is true, but one thing I’ll never forget is…

That day in 2000 in Baguio City, PI, when we had that big pig party, when we took that adult female pig – she was huge – and slaughtered her. That pig was pregnant! She was so pregnant that when we cut open her belly, the little piglets inside her were almost the size of my hand. And I have big hands. I remember thinking how wasteful and stupid that was. If we had waited a week, we would’ve had 8 or 9 more free pigs!

Late in the evening, I mentioned something about the pregnant pig to one of the men in charge of the actual slaughter. He said to me with a smile on his face, “The babies? Yeah. They were delicious."

I believe in attaching meaning where there isn’t any. Isn’t that what believing in God is all about?

Memorial Me featuring 1981

2011-06-05T23:34:38Z

Memorial DAY: A Day to Remember

Memorial Day 2011 has come and gone. The long holiday weekend is over. For me, as is customary, unforgettable adventures ensued.

I am a writer because, whether I want it or not, my life always involves much drama. Every question asked me can be answered with the same two words: Long Story.

My Holiday Weekend began after class Thursday night (there is no Friday class). I left class early. A pre-recorded tutorial video played while the Prof kicked it at his desk. I exited just before eight, quietly bidding classmates Wheelie J and Dan, Happy Holidaze! My holiday had begun and I was off to Chepe’s place to rock hard on drums!

At exactly 8:00 pm, the time I got into my car, and as is customary at 8 pm, 100.3 FM The Sound plays a selected album side in its entirety. Tonight it was 1975’s Fleetwood Mac, their second album entitled Fleetwood Mac – Fleetwood Mac’s debut album in 1968, the year I was born, was also titled, Fleetwood Mac – but the British band’s first album featuring Lindsay Buckingham AND Stevie Nicks. I heard from Monday Morning till the end of side one: two Buckingham songs, two Christine McVie songs, and two Stevie Nicks’ songs including Rhiannon. Chepe doesn’t understand why I rate Mick Fleetwood as one of my favorite drummers - after Keith Moon, of course - but I do.

The next day, Friday afternoon, I realized that I’d left my USB drive AND my cheap prescription sunglasses back at the college, in and on the computer, respectively. SO, instead of ‘staying close to home and NOT driving anywhere Friday’ as I’d planned; on account of holiday traffic, I instead ended up driving all the way out to Winnetka to the West Valley Occupational center Friday afternoon to retrieve my lost goods. At WVOC, uniformed security informed me they couldn’t let me in the classroom. “You can’t or you won’t?” It was Friday 4:30 pm and I had to wait till Tuesday, when school resumed.

On Tuesday evening, after the Holiday, when I arrived for class, the USB was still in the computer and my sunglasses were right there as well. What makes it laughable is that the previous Sunday, Chepe had taken me out for sushi and I’d left the sunglasses at the restaurant. I called the restaurant the next day. They had them. The next day, I went back to retrieve them. Two days later, I left them at school!

Days after getting my sunglasses back a second time, as I now write this, I’ve lost them again, this time at the house of St. Tommy’s. It’s Sunday and my sunglasses are nowhere to be found.

I’m always leaving things behind at friend’s houses and my brother’s house. It’s also not uncommon for me to ‘Surprise Attack’, which means, come over uninvited and without calling. I do that regularly at my brother’s and at St. Tommy’s. I used to do it at Pricko’s house, but we’re no longer friends. Pricko is now, again, my brother’s friend only.

I ‘Surprise Attacked’ Chepe the other day, but I didn’t mean to. I’d emailed Chepe telling him I was coming over, but he didn’t read the entire message. We still rocked out. My unannounced arrival did not become a tense situation, as it often is, with some people. Being able to ‘Surprise Attack’ at any time…that’s what a Friend is to me.

I rocked hard on drums with Chepe on guitar and bass in his Stone Street Studio Thursday night and again Friday night at the start of the Memorial Day weekend. We watched a documentary about the WHO called Amazing Journey, a movie that neither of us had known of, which is odd, since Chepe and I are HUGE FANS of the Who, and we stay pretty well informed. The movie played in the background as we went through our entire set, including the song, My Generation, which we’d never played before. We watched attentively with audio only when the story centered on Keith Moon.

Chepe and I are both real keen on Keith Moon’s drumming. I’ve kept the book Full Moon on my bookshelf for the last two weeks. I first read the Dougle Butler penned Moon bio back in 8th grade when I was 13 in 1981, the year the book first came out. I remember buying Full Moon in a little glass-walled bookstore near the Troubadour in West Hollwood that year, a bookstore no longer there.

For this Memorial holiDay (sic) Weekend I’d like to remember 30 years ago, 1981.

1981 was the year I went to my very first rock concert, Cheap Trick at the LA Forum with my neighborhood friend Stew, and my older sister and her then friend Lourdes. Stew was then and is now, 30 years later, more my brother’s friend than mine. In 2011, my brother still talks to Stew. I only ever see Stew if I’m with my brother. My sister still sees Lourdes, who lives in a different city now, as does Stew.

Later that same year, 1981, I would see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with my brother and our then school chums, Geddy and Pricko, also more my brother’s friends than mine. For Memorial Day Weekend, 100.3 The Sound was playing, in order, the top 100 albums of all time, not the entire album, just one side, but still, for the first time in endless, the radio was playing B SIDE hits.

I listened to Tom Petty’s Damn the Torpedoes. I heard the songs Complex Kid and Century City, neither of which I’ve heard in decades. And I’d never heard them played on the radio before. What memories listening to those songs brought back! Like moden man, modern girl, we’re gonna live in the modern world.

In the song, Complex Kid, Tom Petty rhymes the world Kid with Bed so he says Complex Ked and I don’t know why that is so cool, but it is. And it’s not just me that thinks so. It’s millions of people, including my older brother. And the majority of us like watching the character, Lucky, on the animated sitcom King of the Hill.

Sunday came, a three day Memorial Day weekend – I found myself driving to the LA Forum to see Prince. I was driving alone. I had no ticket. It was Prince’s final show at the Forum, formerly the Fabulous Forum, then Great Western Forum. Now it’s just the plain old Forum. Prince was to play the final show of a 21 Night Stand. It was 7:00. I’d just left my brother’s house. I had $40 cash, no ticket.

My plan was to park for free on the street near the Forum and somehow, get into the show. The show was sold out. There were people trying to get tickets, but I didn’t see anybody selling tickets. There were a lot of people; sold out show; I walked around the perimeter of the Forum, inspecting all the entrances until it became clear that I was not going to buy a ticket and the only way I was going to get in was to sneak in and the best way to do that was the Smoking Area.

Since the Forum is a non-smoking building, there is an unguarded entrance/exit for patrons to come and go to smoke cigarettes. This area was fenced off, but the under area was 18 inches and I could shimmy under. I could, but would I?

I stood there. To my left AND to my right were guards admitting people, searching bags, taking tickets. Behind me were smokers, drinkers, people inside the venue. Surely one of THEM would see me shimmy under the gate. Would they rat me out?

The real question wasn’t COULD I do it. There was no question. I’ve snuck into concerts before. WOULD was the real question I’m a 43 year old man. What am I doing sneaking into rock concerts?

I’ve snuck into a lot of concerts in my life: Neil Young and Crazy Horse at Catalyst in Santa Cruz in 1996, James Brown back at the Greek in 1993. But I was kid then.

Then again, I did sneak into Jerry Seinfeld in Beverly Hills just last year. I waited till many people were in line and the guards were all busy and then I slid under the fence and ran inside up to the Colonade section and sat down in an empty seat at an empty row. My heart was beating a mile a minute, like it did when I got off that ride at Universal, total rollercoaster rush.

The stage was a giant symbol, the symbol that Prince called himself, when we went by “The Artist Formerly Known as…” I walked around a great deal before the show started. I had no weed or pipe and I had no desire to drink so I was basically sober the entire time. I would have to exit the Forum to smoke, and since that was too close to the crime scene, I didn’t smoke cigarettes the entire time either.

When the opening band started, I was in a Riser seat, the front, lower section of the Loge area, about 8 rows up. An R&B trio of Singers with a keyboard/synth/drum machine played in an upper area, away from the stage, where an announcer might be during a sports event. The stage was reserved for Prince. I was quickly on my feet and would remain on them for the duration of the show.

After a short set of nice deep bass RnB vocal numbers, Prince started. One drummer, one bass two keyboardists and Prince on guitar and vocals was the band’s core. They ran through numerous numbers old and knew and a few medleys and covers like Everyday People and MJ’s Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough. After the crowd got thick and I lost my seat, I moved up to the back wall, to the furthest distance away possible and there I stood and watch the duration of the show. Cream, get on top / 1999 / Let’s Go Crazy into Delirious back into Let’s Go Crazy. It was crazy, on hit after another.

Prince did 4 encores, leaving the stage entirely and returning. For one encore set, Prince performed solo at a grand piano that was also a synth/drum machine. It was like Prince at Karaoke. He did When Doves Cry like this, which would have been cheesy, except Prince wrote all the music so it was fitting.

At the end of the show – there was a dance floor around the stage – many hot, sharply dressed ladies were granted access to the stage and about 30 of them were dancing on stage for the final numbers. Maceo Parker from the JB’s came on to blow his sax for several of them. Numerous dancers and backup singers, mostly female and hot, shared the stage for the majority of the show, leaving to change clothes only to return looking even sluttier. All in all, two hours of non-stop rock.

At one point Prince began speaking, “I remember back in the 80’s when I was just getting started, I would come to see bands here at the Forum. This place should be designated a place for live music. I remember seeing Fleetwood Mac here back in the 80’s.” Of all the bands he could have mentioned, he said, “Fleetwood Mac.” I thought of what I’d heard recently, that because of the show Glee, that FM’s song Dreams is now back on the Billboard charts. Maybe it was a plug. Prince also mentioned seeing the Jacksons and James Brown and Prince and the Revolution! Everybody cheered at that. Perhaps Prince IS a fan of the Mac, as am I. Maybe that’s why Lindsay Buckingham is always on What Up With That?

To think that 30 years ago, in 1981, at the LA Coliseum, Prince would get booed off the stage by rock n roll fans. It was October 1981 and I remember cuz I was too young to go, but not really. The Rolling Stones played the LA Coliseum with the opening acts: J Geils Band, George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers, and Prince. I so wanted to go…

It wasn’t so much that I was too young – it was that I had no friends and no one to go with and that my brother wasn’t interested in seeing the Stones. Pricko went to the show with his older siblings, but me I couldn’t go. I remember years later, hearing that while Prince performed his hit from Controversy, Jack U Off, he was booed off the stage.

Any whosafudge, as a musician, there are certain artists that have changed my life, some forever not for better, and I have seen most of them live in concert. Not John Lennon, but I did shake hands with George Clinton before he took the stage at the Coach House in Orange County; and I have seen James Brown numerous times, and the Meters and Carlos Santana and The Who and Neil Young and so many others.

The Evolution of Funk is one that I’ve followed religiously in that I have studied the scriptures and learned all words.

I remember 1981, Prince was wildly popular with Little Red Corvette, which he performed Sunday night. I never got it back in 1981, or should I say, I never gave it a chance. I was a rocker. I didn’t like Prince cuz I never listened Prince and I wouldn’t have liked it even if I had. Or would have I? Had I been at the Stones 1981 show – it was the Tattoo You tour – would I have been one of the hecklers throwing tomatoes at Prince? I wonder. The only Black musician I listened to in 1981 was Jimi Hendrix! Funny how Jimi had to go all the way to London England and play with a British rhythm section just to get known in the USA?!?!

Then came college. Then came Chepe Escondidio. Then came PE and BDP and John Coltrane and Miles Davis and James Brown and Macka B.
I did my senior thesis on Bebop Jazz.

I remember in 1989, I was at Berkeley and this African American dude a few years younger than me: he was telling me that I was born on a cusp. That people born after me, younger than me GET rap; but that people older than me DON’T GET rap, they think it’s noise, the way parents thought RocknRoll was noise. That same African American youth, then a Berkeley student like me, he also told me something else. “Rap killed funk,” he told me. He was right, except it really didn’t die; it just evolved.

My older brother by one year and Geddy and Pricko are all one year older than me. None of them like rap music much. On Memorial Day Monday 2011, I went to a barbeque at the house of my brother and Pricko and Geddy were there as well. And other than Pricko’s mother and brother and my brother’s son, no one else was there.

I wanna end with a quote by Prince. Prince, the evolution began with Lionel Hampton, then James Brown, tyhen George Clinton, then Prince, then PE. Rap killed funk. Public Enemy.

I hate to see an erection go to waste. I’m just rock hard in a funky place.

Party with me Punkers!!!!!!!!!!

2011-05-16T05:34:10Z

With Napalm...with Marijuana....with a clenched fist...with the history of the world. -- Mike Watt

I made this picture using Photoshop. It is a possible album cover for my rock n roll
trio Coffee Pot Break. I am a huge fan of RnR Iconography and Album Art; that is,
the artwork on rock n roll record albums, specifically LP's, which are now a thing of
the past.

Starting with the Beatles and Stones and bands of that era like The Who and Pink
Floyd, both in the UK and USA, starting around 1964 and lasting till about 1989 when CD's had fully replaced Vinyl – for 25 years, all the music I listened to was released
in a cardboard jacket covered with interesting imagery and psychedelic lettering.
My brother and I used to go a RnR convention back in the early 80's, the first
Saturday each month at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, to buy RnR memorabelia,
records, posters, etc. YES albums like 1972's Fragile designed by Roger Dean,
double and sometimes even single albums opening up like Jefferson Airplane’s
1967 After Bathing at Baxters or the 1971 Warhol designed Sticky Fingers with the
zipper on the jeans opening to reveal bulging underwear.

It’s been a long time since new music came housed in an opening jacket,
like Queen's 1977 News of the World album jacket with the giant wreaking havoc
and the members of Queen all bloodied in the metal hands of the beast. Then again,
it’s been a long time since a double A side release like We Will Rock You and We
are the Champions.

At the same time, A sides and B sides are no longer with us.  The scene from
Almost Famous, where the young Cameron Crowe is holding the Tommy record,
listening to Sparks really shows the power of Rock n Roll music.

These days, with MP3 files and digital downloading, RnR artwork is not what it once
was. Album art of the 70’s has largely been replaced by CD booklets and Website
tie-ins.

Since I’m kind of stuck in the past, still listening to my Minutemen Joy EP cassette in
my Cadillac Car, I hope, if Coffee Pot Break ever releases an album, that it comes
with some kind of Art-ful housing. Flibby's already designed our Coffee Pot Break
logo and I've done several possible covers.

So I showed my Computer professor my portfolio, which was largely Coffee Pot
Break poster/album cover possibilities and Mr. Huberman gave me some useful
pointers. I showed the Jaguar Break Out pic to my prof and several people. In
speaking of my ‘goal’ or intention in creation I tried to mention the Dutch
artist, Hieronymus Bosch (1450 - 1516), the artist who did wild paintings with so
much going on, it takes a while to SEE everything. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of
Bosch's name. I knew Deep Purple used one of Bosch's paintings for their Debut
Album, but I couldn't think of the man's name. I could have easily looked the name up on the Interweb, but I hoped someone would come up with the man's name. I knew
everybody knew him, but nobody could name him. "He did the cover of the Deep
Purple debut albumI" I beckoned.  "It's one of his paintings with them in it!" For an
entire week, Flibby, my brother, Chepe, none could come up with the name. Nor could I.

Deep Purple's Debut Album 1970              Garden of Earthly Delights 1st showing 1516 Currently at Madrid's Prado Museo

Till the day when I logged onto Mike Watts Hoot Page.

On Monday 5/9, Chepe and I had a bass/drum practice run-through of our set in his
basement studio. That evening, we purchased tickets for Mike Watt and the Missing
Men online. It was the first I'd heard of Watt's new Trio. The show was Wednesday
night 5/11 and I was excited to go. I got home and checked Watt's Hootpage. After
logging on and scrolling down, I beheld the name, Hieronymus Bosch! I immediately
remembered trying to think of the name. There it was.

I even did a few gigs w/george hurley w/us as a duet doing some of the old tunes
and it was trippy for me, like I was digging on how "econo" those tiny tunes were -
no filler, right to point and distilled down to the bare nada. also, a big influence was
those little creatures in those old hieronymus bosch paintings - I read a theory
about them maybe being visualizations of proverbs or aphorisms and me, not
knowing much about sixteenth century dutch/flemish culture, made up my own
meanings! -- Mike Watt from his blog.

The picture of Mike Watt and the Missing Men was taken by Chepe Escondido with
his nifty cell phone. The show was incredible. Chepe and I stood up front the entire
show. The show was at LA's Bootleg Theater in between Silver Lake and
Downtown. I've already watch this show on Youtube several times. The opening act
was a female duet, guitar and drums, called Ancient Ribbons. They were awesome.

Chepe and I prayed to Manny Mota between shows. There was a large back area, a wooden terrrace for smoking, and there we partook.  The Missing Band started
playing and I could tell -- it was one piece of music lasting a little over an hour.  At the
conclusion, I was high and I must have said to 4 different people.  "That was like
an Opera. It was like one long piece."

The show was loud and we were up in front against a large speaker. I had pulled two cotton filters out of two cigarettes and put one in each ear. After the show, I removed
the ear filters and discarded them.

When the Headlining band started, it was loud -- as loud as or louder than The
Missingmen had been. At one point I wanted to leave, but Chepe looked as if
he was enjoying himself, so I went out to the lounge. It was odd, because The
Missing Men were not the headliner, but in my mind, WHO could play after nobody?
Nobody short of The Who. It was hard to say whether or not I liked the Headlining
Band, whose name I can not remember. At that moment, they sounded like noise. I
retired to the outside deck.

There I met Tom, Watt's guitarist. "How did you get to play with Mike Watt I asked
him. "I played in punk bands who recorded on the SST label back in the 80's so
that's where I first met Mike Watt," Tom told me. I met the drummer, Raul, who told
me, "It wasn't LIKE one long piece, it WAS one long piece!" Then I met Mike Watt
and when I told him, "That piece sounded like an Opera." His reply was, "It didn't
SOUND LIKE an Opera, it was an Opera." A Rock Opera like Tommy!

I asked Mike Watt how his day was. He told me about driving all the way to
Riverside from San Pedro to help out a friend. It was cool hearing Mike Watt talk to
me. He even remembered my name!  He said to me, "In military speak, Bravo
means backup plan." "I didn't know that Mike Watt. Thank you," was my reply. Watt
went to the restroom and I took the opportunity to go get Chepe.

It was lounder inside. It was so loud, I wanted to get out of there quickly. I saw
Chepe. I said to him, "Would you like to meet Mike Watt?" He said, "Hell yeah!"

We went out back. I said, "Mr. Watt, I want to introduce you my good friend, Chepe
Escondido. Chepe introduced me to YOU and the Minutemen back in 1987!" Watt's reply, "Respect. Nice to meet you, Chepe."

I stood back and watched as Chepe and Mike Watt chatted about art and music for
about 20 minutes. Mike Watt is very knowledgeable about Art. He told us that The
Garden of Earthly Delights and many Bosch paintings are at the Prada in Madrid.
"They call him El Bosco in Spain." He told us.

Meeting Mike Watt was one of the greatest experiences of my life. Watt seemed like one of us. I've met Michael Jackson and it wasn't even the same. Meeting Mike
Watt was not an Stargazing Experience (to quote the Rainbow song). It was more
like an opportunity to thank Mike Watt.

I gave Mike Watt a copy of my book, Culturebook, which I end with a quote by Mike
Watt. The Minutemen are the first people I thank in my book. I surely hope Mike watt
reads my Culturebook. I'm sure he'll like it.

MY ROOM in 2011

2011-05-16T04:46:25Z

Rock N Roll Never Forgets

2011-05-13T21:42:42Z

Last night, driving home in my Cadillac Car from Chepe Escondido’s East LA home studio to my Condo in Westwood, listening to rock n roll radio the entire way, the final song I heard was Bob Segar doing:

Rock N Roll Never Forgets

It seemed an appropriate song to end the night, and an appropriate title for this piece.

Neither Chepe and I are huge fans of Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band. I know Segar’s music much more than does Chepe – my brother and I can play the entire Night Moves album on piano and guitar. We’ve been fans of that album since our older sister first bought the LP in 1976. Still, Chepe and I tend to agree with my boy Blue who said it best: “Bob Segar? He’s just a poor man’s Bob Dylan.”

In any event, over the last 18 months, since I’ve been back in LA, one of Chepe’s new catch phrases has been: “Rock n Roll Never Forgets.” I’m beginning to realize that Chepe’s use of this phrase transcends Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band. My usual reply, when Chepe says RNRNF is, “But Rockers often do!” A little weed humor.

For this reason, as I pulled my Cadillac Car into my designated parking space in the underground security garage of my Condo and cut the engine, I sat in my car listening till the song finished. It seemed appropriate for Three Reasons, the first being a salute to Chepe Escondido for his fine catch phrase.

The Second Reason was that the digital green light that displayed the time on my dash read 1:59. I figured the song would end at 2:00. It did. I got to watch listening as 1:59 became 2:00. “You can come back, baby, rock n roll never forgets…”

This may seem Meaningless, this passage of time from 1:59 AM to 2:00 AM, but if you are an alcoholic like me, living in California, that passage of time is sacred.

I don’t drink. In fact, tonight is the 12^th of May, which means it’s been 4 whole months since I’ve drunk alcohol. So why is 1:59 becoming 2:00 so important to alcoholics?

You can buy liquor at any all night store that sells liquor in LA until 1:59 AM. The moment the clock says 2:00, you can’t buy liquor any more. Not till 6 AM.

I remember one night about 7 or 8 years ago, I was at my local 7-11, the one that sells hard alcohol, the one that I often run to from my house to buy cigarettes (I used to run there to buy booze) – well, that night in 2003 or 4, I was in line with several people. The time was 1:55 AM and the line was not moving. I wanted to buy one 40 ounce bottle of King Cobra and I knew the price to be $1.45 and I had one One and two Quarters so at 1:57 I moved to the front of the line and plopped my $1.50 down and said, “Okay?” The checker said, “Wait.” He grabbed the bottle and scanned it on a second register and said, “Okay.” I thanked him and left the store and the slow moving line. As I exited the store, two uniformed policeman driving a car had just parked and were going to enter the store. The time said 1:59 with only seconds remaining. The Police People saw my beer, looked at the clock and walked past me, entering the store.

Now, in front of me in line, but not yet at the register, were two tall Sweeds. They were young. They were on some extended working holiday. We chatted in line for a few minutes before my cut. They had two CASES of cheap canned beer. They were the Last Call crew. A party of people were anticipating their return to the party and you know what? They showed up empty handed because there was no way they got to the register in time. I couldn’t stay to watch. By 2:05 I was home, drinking my King Cobra, thinking: I could never live in this country if I were a drinker. I headed back to Asia within a few weeks of that event.

It was times like that, and they were numerous; times that told me – America really sucks!

But America doesn’t suck. Certainly LA doesn’t suck. The fact remains, however, 1:59 becoming 2:00 is as sacred to me as Cows are to Indians or Crosses are to Christians. Cultural significance takes many forms: that is, people attach meaning to many things – the number 13: to some, unlucky; to others, it means Manny Mota!

LA doesn’t suck. Tonight, Chepe Escondido, who first introduced me to Mike Watt and the Minutemen back in 1987 – The Minutemen, whose music I became an adult listening to; Mike Watt, a bass player whom I quote in many of my blogs and even in my Culturebook! The final line of my book is a quote by Mike Watt – I speak for language. I stand for truth. I shout for history. I am a cesspool for all the shit to run down it.

Tonight, not only did I get to see Mike Watt’s new trio The Missing Men at a small club in downtown with less than 200 other people – Chepe and I were right up front the entire show, but after the show, I got to meet Mike Watt and hang out with him for about an hour with Chepe and Tom, his new guitarist and Raul, his new drummer. I even gave Mike Watt a copy of my Culturebook!

To be Continued

True Hollywood Stories by Bravo

2011-04-14T19:51:46Z

Another Day in LA

There are things that bother people. Not simply irrational fears, called phobias, but deeply rooted scar tissue. For example, a rape victim might freak out if she were watching a movie and there was a rape scene; whereas most people would react with a more controlled shock.

For me, it’s the LAPD. All my life as a teenager living on the West Hollywood / Beverly Hills border, they put the Fear into me. They, being, the BHPD, the LAPD, the West Hollywood Sheriffs; it’s not ALL police. Korean police were very kind and approachable, as were the Bobbies in England and other Police of the world.

In LA, when I drive, if I see a police car, I feel panic in the pit of my stomach. I know I have nothing in the car illegal. I know I’m sober and driving safely. I know all my tags are legal; but still, I can not shake the presence of Authoritay. I begin to concoct scenarios in my mind: getting pulled over, being questioned about this, about that. I get kind of freaked out. I don’t like it, but I can’t control it.

When I was 16 years old, one summer afternoon, I was parked on Alpine Drive in Beverly Hills, in front of my friend’s house, a friend I still know, while many of my friends, friends I still know, were in the pool and I was in front the house – I was put in handcuffs, told to sit on the curb while the BHPD told me, while looking at my license, that an Eric J Bravo, who lives at 411 N. Palm Drive, is wanted by police for robbery, that he just robbed his parents! I kid you not. Apparently, I took my mother’s jewelry and they had called to report me. The police held me there, taking my car apart, while I sat on the curb in handcuffs, wearing a swimsuit, teeshirt, and flip flops. I told the police to knock on THAT door and my friends would answer. They told me to shut up. In the end, they released me and drove off.

Funny thing was, I had a canister of weed hidden in the car that they didn’t find. I wonder what they would have done, had they found it!

For this and many other instances like this in my life, I fear the LAPD. For this reason and in an effort to save money and conserve resources, I decided I want to start using public transportation when I can.

I go to school 4 days a week. The bus ride from my house to the school is very convenient. The bus begins one block from my house. I’m the first one on board. The commute involves one transfer and about 5 minutes of walking.

Trouble is – it costs nearly 6 dollars to get there and back by bus. That’s the same it costs in gas and I drive a Cadillac Car!

So I looked to buy a bus pass. A monthly pass costs $75. That’s pretty expensive. They also offer a Day pass, but that is $6, so that doesn’t help me. A student pass is only $36 dollars. That is the deal. I am a full time student.

I went today to apply for one. First they told me that my paperwork was insufficent. In addition to my student card, AND my receipt showing my class hours, etc, I need a letter from the school. When I get all that together and submit it, it will take approximately 20 days for them to process my application and mail me the card. THEN I can pay to activate it; so sometime in May, maybe, I can start taking the bus to school. Or maybe I’ll just pay $6 a day out of pocket.

It’s things like this that make me HATE LA. Everyday, people go to work. There are a LOT of people selling/renting/leasing automobiles. Everyday, these people hope to sell/rent/lease at least ONE car or truck or SUV.

If everybody starting taking the BUS, the economy would surely suffer. I guess I’ll have to take one for the team and live in Fear.

And people wonder WHY I lived abroad for 13 years and 5 months.

True Korean Stories by Bravo

2011-04-12T20:27:25Z

This is a work of Friction. I mean, Fiction. I don't know what I mean. All's I know is
This is an excerpt from the follow up to my Culturebook Book Two: My Youth in Asia.
The following is an unedited excerpt from a piece entitled: Book Three: Culturebook Unity.

May 15, 2009

It’d been 2 years to the day since I first began working and living on Cheju Island, located less than 50 miles south of the South Korean mainland. Before moving to Cheju Island I’d already spent a decade living and working on the South Korean mainland. Here on the island, I taught English in Public Schools, side by side with a Korean English teacher, working for EPIK: the government agency in charge of placing foreign language teachers in Public Schools. EPIK: English Program in Korea.

Two years of my life I spent working for EPIK on Cheju Island, sometimes spelt Jeju Island. It was the end of my second one year contract. I worked at one elementary school exclusively for the first 9 months, then, two high schools for a semester and summer; then 2 different high schools for the last 9 months. EPIK was a pretty good job, but it was finished and I had to go. EPIK was NOT going to renew my contract.

It didn’t matter much that I WASN’T being offered a contract to re-sign, that some of my higher ups were glad to see me go, that cordiality didn’t exist between myself and certain Province of Education staff named Memberia Kim. I didn’t like her either. I didn’t like any of them. I was ready to resign. Still, if they’d offered me a 3rd contract, I would have re-signed.

EPIK didn’t offer to re-sign me cuz of what happened the last time, the first time, I was in Nepal.

I’d gone trekking in Nepal for the first time in January, 4 months prior, for vacation. There, I met some Korean trekkers from the mainland, up on the lower Annapurna circuit; and one night while sharing the same mountain guesthouse, they broke out some soju in juice boxes; so we got beers and drank together and spoke a bunch in English and Korean. There were a dozen of us from all over the world, some heading up the mountain, some down, all staying at the same guesthouse the same night in the small mountain hamlet called Ghorepani. I introduced myself to the two 30ish male Koreans and I told them I live in Cheju and work at a high school there.

Big mistake!

Apparently, not only did the two men allege that they witnessed me sharing a doobie with a Singapore man and a Dutch couple as the evening wore on, but they decided to notify the school board in Cheju and rat me out. They had taken a picture of me and emailed it to my higher ups. Upon returning from my vacation, Memberia Kim was trying desperately to track me down. Or so I heard. It was a good thing, coincidentally, I’d lost my phone at the Electric Pagoda in Kathmandu.

Just to add some trauma to the drama, I knew nothing of this ‘investigation’ until long after I’d been back in Cheju. I’d muled back a little taste from Nepal and had been high, not only everyday in Nepal, but upon returning from Nepal, I went to work and was told I had two weeks more vacation! I didn’t have to show my face around the high school for two whole weeks, so I went on line, bought a round trip plane ticket and flew to Clark Airfield, presently known as Diasdado Macapagal International Airport.

There, I did the Sagada run, not the Kessel run in 12 par secs in the Millennium Falcon, but the 6 hour bus ride from Olongapo to Baguio City, followed by another 7 hour bus ride to Sagada Mountain Province, where I procured more Jackie Brown. I made a proper vacation trip out of the drug run by taking along my good friend Mary K, who had never visited to the Philippine Cordillera. We visited Baguio, we visited Sagada, we visited Angeles City, and then we return to Subic Bay. After that, I returned to SKorea with enough to keep me happy for a short time. It was still chilly winter in the ROK. I needed my medicine.

-- One day, pot’s gonna be legal and future people are gonna look back and say, What the Deuce, Lois?
-- Pot’s never gonna be legal. It’s too anti-authority. And some ONE is always going to be in charge.

It was only then AFTER my return from the Philippines did Memberia finally track me down. Boy was she pissed! I told her it was a hand-rolled cigarette and that those Korean men in Nepal were out of their minds. They were from Seoul.

Memberia ordered me to take a piss test at the local hospital. I had no problem with that. Not only is Korea totally lax enough to scam off easily, but as luck would have it, I also have a surrogate younger brother in Cheju named Zander, whom I’d first met back in 2003 at the Korean National University of Education or KNUE – more specifically, I had someone I could trust. Zander had just moved to the island from the cty of Cheonan, one hour south of South. Just a few years ago, when Zander first moved to Cheonan, it was called Fastest Growing City in South Korea.

The morning of my test, after a couple puffs from the meagerness that still remained, I rode my 125 to Jeju city and I met my long-time, anonymous pal Zander in a coffee shop and bought him a cup of coffee. The night before, I’d bought myself a small thin plastic 200 ml bottle of soju and drank it. I then washed the bottle, dried it and saved it. This morning at the coffee shop, I gave the plastic flask to Zander and after his coffee, some water and a trip to the toilet; he returned the bottle to me wrapped snugly in a small black plastic bag. I took the bottle with me to the hospital, hiding it down my pants. At the hospital a sexy young Korean nurse handed me a cup and told me in Hangul to pee in it. I said. “OKAY!” That was it. In the bathroom I poured the pee into the cup. I politely returned the cup to the Korean nurse full of clean, still plenty warm, urine of the Zander variety. Korean nurse told me in Korean language that they would forward the results to EPIK after 5 days. I never heard from either Memberia or any of my higher ups ever again, except a final word BEFORE I took the test, telling me that IF I passed, I could finish out my contract, but I WOULDN’T be asked to stay on for another year. IF I failed, they failed to tell me WHAT would happen. But it wouldn’t be good.

I didn’t care. By May, I hadn’t had a vacation since January, I was going nuts. Life in SKorea can be hella frustrating sometimes. I’d already worked for 10 years on the MAINLAND before ever moving to the ISLAND. I’d had just about enough of SKorea.

Why, you might ask, did I live in SKorea for 12 years…if it’s so frustrating? One answer: South Korea is a great place to BEGIN AGAIN, if you’re a North American college graduate without a dime to his name and if you like Asian women, spicy food and rice and stuff.

Happy Birthday to ME!!!!!!!

2011-04-10T07:29:46Z

Using Photoshop, I made this Poster to promote my Band with our Song Titles all around

I don’t get it.

What’s up with all the mediocrity that’s #1 in the US popular markets.

Case in point: Tonight on Saturday Night Live, the Foo Fighters were the musical guest.
I can’t say they suck cuz they don’t, but what’s the point? When Dave Grohl was
just the drummer for Nirvana, he was part of a ground-breaking sound.

At present, Grohl is very much like Phil Collins, who graduated from being the
drummer of the ground-breaking Genesis project with PG Sledgehammer at the
helm, making classics like Supper's Ready, to making some of the most enduring
schlock ever.

If Grohl is going to be the lead guitar player singer, why does he need two other
guitarists,
in addition to the bass and drums just to make him sound like he’s a rocking guitar
front man? And if he’s
the lead singer, what the hell is he doing chewing gum while he is singing?
Is that
supposed to make him seem cool? If I were the parent of teenagers, I'd worry if
they were fans of Foo Fighters. These ordinary white guys getting paid to sound
ordinary, growing their hair and wearing tattooes to seem connected. Connected
to what? Commerce? Law and Order?

Tonight, my mom and I went to see the highly recommended LINCOLN LAWYER
movie. The first theater we went to, it was SOLD OUT. We had to go to another
theater. As far as I could tell, it was the only movie sold out at the mall!

We were both excited to see it, based on positive recommendations. As soon
as the hip hop music started and the Lincoln Continental appeared constant in the
opening, both of us knew it was NOT going to be what we expected. We were
both expecting something to do with ex President Lincoln. In any event, we
watched.

I can’t remember wanting to walk out of a movie in recent memory. I really hated
watching that movie. I don’t know which was worse, seeing quality actors
like Marisa Tomeii, William Macy and Brian Cranston (Malcom’s dad and the
original Watley on Seinfeld) play such pathetic one dimensional characters; or
knowing the outcome of the movie half-way through, yet reading about twists
online. How transparent must a story be? I told my mom, half-way through the
film. “He’s gonna get off, and then they are going to arrest him as soon as he gets
out of the courtroom.” Bam! As if that mattered! Who cares about a spoiled rich
kid who may or not have beaten a prostitute? He has a history of killing girls and
pinning it on somebody else. How is that even possible! He's so rich and smart
and his family so connected that no one even suspects him? Enter a lawyer who
makes boatloads of cash getting rich criminals off. He's our hero cuz he's got a kid
and his daughter is cute and his black limo driver always has something witty to
say.

According to the Interweb, he's called the Lincoln Lawyer cuz he practices law out
of his Lincoln. He lives in his Lincoln. But, he's got a driver! Where does the driver
live, in the front seat?

Maybe in the book, he lives in his car. In the movie, we have no proof of this. He's
always being chauffered around!

Matthew McConaughey was the most unlikeable character you could ever imagine,
trying to be all slick like some untouchable rich guy, and the Westwood crowd ate it up.

I’ll bet there will be sequel after sequel. It's scary, when I think about it.
Americans ARE scary people. It's like Terry Gilliam said, after the release of
1985's Brazil. "Monsters and villans like Darth Vader aren't truly frightening. What
is truly frightening is your run of the mill next-door neighbor torturing you because
it's his job."

Ryan Philippe usually plays a really good ‘bad guy’ like the sociopath in Cruel
Intentions, but here he was just some whiney rich kid. We know he is guilty.
Maybe he isn’t! Maybe the prostitute is a liar as well as him. As if we are
supposed to care! Maybe she's just trying to take him for his money. Then his
mother kills to protect him! Was that the twist netizens are clammorning about --
"Best legal thriller since Presumed Innocent." The crazy mother actually kills
somebody just to protect her son. Wasn't that Friday the XIII^th?

The only thing less realistic than the drama was the courtroom scenes, which were
so out of touch with reality. Could the prosecutor have been any feebler or more
inept? Or the cops any more cliché? Answer: NO! And how can anybody care
about characters like these? What's the moral of the story?

If this movie is accepted as entertainment, and the Foo Fighters are what
Americans think of as GOOD ROCK N ROLL, then I guess I’m out of touch with
America in 2011 and that is okay by me. For my birthday today, I got 2 Puccinis:
La Boheme e Madama Butterfly and one Verdi: Rigoletto. I'm set for weeks. It's
all new to me!

Today is Saturday April 9^th and I turn 43 today. I like movies and music a lot.
I think I know what is good and what is not good and I can tell you why I think what
I do. I like every genre of music in the world, but not every act in every genre. I
don’t really like jazz, as I much as I like John Coltrane, and the music of everyone
he’s ever played with, like McCoy Tyner, Count Basie, Miles Davis, and the king of
all Sir Duke.

This is the cover of our first EP. If EP's still existed. Stay Tuned for Viral Release

This is Not a Coffee Pot Break poster

2011-03-13T09:17:34Z

Three weeks ago I began learning Photoshop. Since people don't read straight text much these days, it is important for me as a writer, to hone my electronic media skills. This is the first of many Coffee Pot Break posters.

Coffee Pot Break is the name of the Musical Trio in which I play, with bandmates bass player/singer Chepe Escondido and guitarista/cantante Flibworth Thurstein.

I made this poster on Wednesday night, Ash Wednesday. A bit about the poster:

The Foreground is from an acrylic painting Chepe Escondido painted of our band.
The Background is from a photo I took on my pilgrimage to Yangnotri, Himalaya India in August 2009.

The Coffee Pot logo is a design stenciled by Flibworth Thurstein.

The Pic in each of the four corners is a 1947 painting called The Liberator by Flemish Surrealist, Rene Magritte. The Pipes are from Magritte's infamously ironic, Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

I photographed both paintings at LACMA in January 2011. LACMA has both Magritte originals in their Permanent Collection. Chepe and I have been fans of Magritte's painting since the 1980's when we first met.

Nice to Magritte You is a nice pun on the phrase nice to meet you and includes the phoneme greet. George Costanza would probably add that it also includes the phoneme Ma.

Other than the fact that it sounds cool and pays homage to one of my favorite painters, the phrase: Nice to Magritte You means nothing at all.

Act Three

2011-03-04T21:28:30Z

Act Three contains no pictures

One last thing that deserves explanation: I live in LA, but I have no job, no income other than book sales, which are few and far between. I am, and have been for some time now, effectively broke with no cell phone, bank account; nothing in my name, with hardly anything purchased by me since about September 2010. Yet, I don’t have any need to get a paying job.

How is this possible? My situation works like this. I have zero dependents, zero debt, no health problems or physical abnormalities other than a proclivity towards addiction. My sister the lawyer is my benefactor. I live with my mother. Before my arrival late November 2009, my mother lived alone in a fairly upscale, comfortable spacious Westside condo with two phone lines, wireless interweb, 3rd floor view, balcony with grill (my brother and I bought it for our mother Mother's Day 2010) and a spa/gym/swimming pool, with underground parking. The condo is owned and paid for by my sister and her husband named Eric. God, I love coincidence. My lawyer sister and her lawyer husband Eric enjoy financially providing for my mother. Our mother’s well being is a major concern of theirs.

My mother owns a 1999 Cadillac SRS and lives an incredibly active life. Any day any week, after a full day of work at her Law Firm, my mother has meetings: LAPA or Parliamentarian or Legal Secretaries or Italian Catholic Federation ICF, or others – she’s recording secretary or some delegate for ALL of her many groups. She may have a theatre play to attend, like the Jane Fonda 33 Variations about Beethoven or the John Lithgow one man show, both of which she saw last month. Mother’s watching the LA Philharmonic perform at the Disney Hall right NOW – Thursday night, as I write this. Mom’s got bible study knitting group on Saturday, sometimes yoga; dozens of Clipper games each season. She's a Eucharistic Minister at Good Shepherd Church and serves wine on Sundays at Mass to such dignitaries as former Governor Grey Davis. My mother received a letter of commendation from Senator Barbara Boxer for years of service to the California Legal System. She volunteers helping Latin immigrants with their Papers in Koreatown. She’s a Notary Public. She works 40 hours week at her Law firm. And she doesn’t drive. After 52 years of living and working in the City of Los Angeles, my mother still has never driven an automobile.

I drive my mother wherever she needs to go. Last summer, I drove my mother to Modesto and stayed 2 nights for a weekend conference. As a result, I learned that Modesto is exactly 91 miles from both San Francisco and Sacramento -- a bit of trivia I'm glad I know; so the trip wasn't a complete waste for me. I drove my mother and accompanied her to the ICF convention at the Airport Hilton for Labor Day 2010, and stayed the weekend.

Be that as it may, my mother doesn’t need me to get around. Without me, she’d still get everywhere she needs to get. And that list is only part of my mother’s usual week. I make my mother’s life easier by driving her around. She provides me with a car to use whenever I want, as well as gas and insurance. In return, I take care of our Cadillac Car, keep it clean and tuned, and drive her wherever she needs to go.

So me driving, I save the family, not only transportation costs, but I save food money because I shop with and without my mother. Food shopping, since mom don’t drive: she’d have to rely on my brother, and buy him stuff in the process; or do all her shopping at nearby Bristol Farms, even toilet paper and everything, and walk home with a cart, or taxi it. That’s very dear, as the Brits like to say.

I don’t mind shopping. In fact, I love spending time in supermarkets and in kitchens, and cooking and having prepared food at home like rice, soup, beans, frozen burritos which I make and wrap and freeze; sandwich fixings, fruit, nuts and snacks always available.

For this, I save my mom, and ultimately my sister and her husband money. And I keep my mother and I healthy. Mom likes to cook as well, but she doesn’t always have time. My mother is one of the busiest people I know. I’m like chauffer / houseboy.

If you look at my life – my gas, coffee, food and entertainment needs are all met. I carry a thermos of French Roast coffee in my trunk, thermal mug in my cupholder. I NEVER eat out. I never need anything. I never buy anything. We’ve got cable with many movie channels and I haven’t seen a lot of over the last decade. I always bring a lunch, or dinner, or snacks to class. The only other place I ever eat, other than my kitchen or the occasional Tres Portillos Taco Truck al pastor or carne asada burrito after practice at Chepe’s – Flibby usually foots the bill cuz he’s so cool – are St. Tommy’s house: Lucille, Saint’s wife, is an even better cook than Saint, the barbeque king. Lucille grows better ganja than Saint, too. Or I eat at Chepe’s house, often convincing him to eat his leftovers, rather than going out for tacos. My favorite food is leftovers, and Chepe’s vegetarian so you know its whole foods. Or I eat at my brother’s house. Now that my bro got his new kidney on Thankstaking Day (sic) 2010, he can eat anything! He makes mouth-watering home-cooked meals for himself and his teenage son. There’s always a plate for me. I often go by my brother’s house in the afternoons while he’s at work and eat his leftovers. I give him 3 days, then their mine. He knows. I don’t like food to go to waste.

I don’t enjoy eating out. I don’t like a plate put in front of me with more food than I could possibly eat. I don’t like the system of paying people to bring me food, in addition to the cost of the food. I’m not judging anybody; I’m just saying what I like and don’t like. I like eating at home, anybody’s home. I don’t remember the last time I entered a Starbucks' or a Wendy’s or a P.F. Chang’s, and I don’t feel as though I’m missing anything.

“Dude, yer missing out!”

What do I need money for? My Pall Mall cigarettes cost at most $4.25 a pack. That’s $30 a week, at most. What else do I spend money on? Nothing, except weed. Cigs and weed are the only things I ever mooch, and the only things I ever spend money on, other than the occasional 7-11 99 cent Brazilian Bold refill or pack of gum.

I never ask people for money or expect to be treated, even though I often am. Poverty is the best way to remain sober. If I had money, I would surely spend some on weed and liquor. So many nights in the last four months, if I’d had 10 bucks and it was before 2 am, I would’ve run over to 7-11. I luckily live near a 24 hour 7-11 (is that redundant?) which sells hard alcohol and is tended by cool Latinos like friendly Jaime de D.F. I’m there in under 3 minutes. 90 second return time cuz of the steep incline. I never drive to my local 7-11. I like to walk or run to the liquor store. I also like not having any ways or means to buy liquor or weed. It keeps me sober. I also prefer to run instead of walk. It makes me feel like my hero, Forest Gump.

If I didn't smoke anything at all, I'd have no need for cash at all. Everything I do weekly: read, study Korean, play music, read aloud words in Italian from La Traviatta, ride the exercise bike and workout in my downstairs gym, swim when weather permits, sauna, hot tub, watch TV, listen to Cat Stevens and cry, run through my acoustic guitar set daily, practice drums at home on my electro kit, play lots of scrabble with my older brother in the evening, go to the library to read Mad Magazine and other stuff; hang out with Flibby and Chepe making movies making songs and fighting round the world… hanging out with St. Tommy, wife Lucille, daughters Isis and Zsa Zsa Gabor, eating the tastiest food in Van Nuys; eating at all my friends’ homes, writing in notebooks, writing letters to people that I never send, blogging, cooking, cleaning, taking photographs, masturbating, Interweb diving, driving, playing basketball, listening to La Traviata or the Minutemen while cruising or just sitting parked in my beautiful Cadillac SRS with Northstar Engine, going to museums on their Free Days, or parks anytime; Theatre Plays and Symphonies with my mother, or Clipper Games when mom can’t make it – she’s got season tickets, remember? – Or when there’s a player I want to see like Kobe or Lebron or the Boston Celtics next week. I don’t pay for nothing except parking and I try to find free parking.

Lately, when I’m between destinations and I have spare time, which is always, I visit nearby places like Olvera Street or Mulhulland Overlook pass, or Venice Beach and just walk around the streets of tomorrow. None of this costs me a cent. I bring my own coffee and cigarettes.

So in effect, do I really need paid employment right now? Hell yes I do. Dating costs money.

I gotta get on that.

Quinn Martin’s Epilogue

Two days have passed since I began writing a letter to my sister the lawyer telling her HOW I’M DOING, a letter which evolved into a Three Act interweb blog; a letter I stayed up all night writing, sitting with my laptop at my desk in my room, a room my father slept in for six years. There still remain cigarette burn holes in the carpet to remind me of my father's ever presence in my life.

I was only slightly startled when the house phone rang at 5:20 am Friday morning, still dark outside, but not for much longer. It was my brother calling to alert me that he would be coming over in 20 minutes, that I was to drive him to his weekly nephrology test at UCLA’s IM Pei designed Ronald Reagan Medical Center.

I’d been doing this weekly since my brother got his new kidney -- my brother comes over around 5 a.m. I drive him in his truck to UCLA, drop him, go to his house and hang out till 7:20 -- I usually watch TeVo'd Simpsons with Manny Mota and coffee for 90 minutes or nap, then drive his son to University High School; then around 9, I pick up my brother from UCLA so he could go to work. It would the last of his tests, since he’s doing so well, he doesn’t have to see anybody for several months. Still, when the phone rang, I was surprised. I was deeply immersed in the Teapot Dome Scandal. I’d completely forgotten about my brother's weekly appointment.

Once the letter hit 5 pages, it ceased to be a letter. Once my brother phoned, night became morning, time to start the new day.

A day passes while editing. Today is Saturday the 19th.

This morning, my mother is getting ready for her bible study class at Good Shepherd Catholic Church, where I, as a boy during the 1980s, served mass in full cassock and surplice in the mornings before school, grades 6^th through 8^th. From there, Mom plans to do an errand, go to her office, and from there I don’t know what she’s doing, but I think she said something about a Show.

Hypothetically, if I were to accompany my mother to her Show, I would pick her up from her office, drive her to her Show, be her intermission buddy, drive her home; and a Rush ticket – unsold seats available 15 minutes before curtain – cost usually only $20.

If you factor in transportation costs, time versus money, taxi versus bus, the fact that it’s raining, I’m saving my mother, and ultimately my sister, money by going to the show. Plus, I’m making sure my mother arrives home safely. She is closer to 80 than 70. What if it’s an Opera? How do I feel about Opera?

In 1992, while I lived with my parents in Santa Monica, for some occasion, I bought my mother a CD of Verdi’s La Traviatta. I’d never heard it before. I’d never been a fan of Opera. I don’t remember WHY I chose it; perhaps it was Mother’s Day. Me mum loves the Opera.

I’m a rocker. I grew up with Classic Rock. When I returned to the USA after living in Asia for so many years, I loved driving and listening to 95.5 KLOS, The SOUND 100.3, KeaRTH 101. What struck me as interesting – no matter what the station, if a pop song from the 60’s, 70’s or 80’s played, I knew the all the words, at least the first verse and the chorus. I used to drive the streets of LA, starting November 2009 till just last month, singing along with every song like karaoke. I’d play music from my CDs and sing along, cry, just lose myself in the moment; till one day, I just got sick of hearing Misty Mountain Hop and all the songs on the radio. They just play in a loop, the same few thousand hits from the past.

That plus the commercials, plus my lack of fresh music on CD, plus my 1999 Cadillac Car’s lack of USB input, caused me to start listening exclusively to KUSC FM, the classical station. My mother, whenever she’s home, always has KUSC playing in our condo, always in the kitchen and always in her bedroom, playing simultaneously. I started listening to the Classical sounds, enjoying how they made me feel, relieving my Road Rage like nothing else could.

KUSC FM is a listener supported station. They have zero commercials, sometimes a pledge drive, sometimes famous actors with sultry vocals like Alec Baldwin or Jeremy’s Iron, saluting Lisa Simpson’s attempt to anagram Jeremy Irons’ name, in response to her rival’s anagram of Alec Guinness: Genuine Class. I once heard Jeremy Irons tell a story about the composers Hayden and Mozart: Why couldn’t Mozart find his music teacher? Because he was Hayden!

Jeremy Irons’ voice could woo the pants off of me, and I’m not even Homer-sexual.

The other night, driving home from night jam at Chepe’s place: bass and drums and Manny Mota; for the entire 26 minutes/17 mile drive from Chepe’s place to mine, the Eastside to the Westside, I listened to Acts 2 and 3 of La Traviatta with no interruption on KUSC FM. I never in my life listened to that much Opera by choice. I had no idea what I was hearing. Upon arrival at the condo, I sat in the parking lot, enthralled till Act 3 concluded, till I could hear the DJ tell me what I had been hearing. I knew it was Opera; that was all I knew, till the smooth DJ ID’d the Opera. I had to hear La Traviatta again and again.

I rode the elevator up to 310, our unit, and went straight to our living room shelf. Lo and behold, there it was, on a small shelf of CDs, designed specifically for CDs, very 90s in its fake woodiness, the La Traviatta 2 CD set I had purchased for my mother long ago. It quickly became my go to music: one CD in the Caddie and one for the house. I’ve heard nothing but La Traviatta for over a week now. I’m looking forward to knowing all the arias individually. I prefer the overtures, the non-singing sequences, but the vocals are incredible feats of human endurance and beauty that chill me to my core. I’ve read the CD booklet from cover to cover, Italian – English translation of the entire score, and the history of Verdi and his contemporaries like Rossini, the only name I remember from the lot.

One might ask, “What’s it like driving your mother around all the time?” It’s a fair question. I suppose I could be driving Miss Daisy or worse, driving Hoke. I've never seen the film Driving Miss Daisy, I only know it from Jack Black Be Kind Rewind and Public Enemy.

I got Black Caesar at the crib. That's an idea we could've rolled with from the beginning. Yo, F$&% Hollywood!

If I had to choose something unpleasant -- the one thing that ‘annoys me’ and not really, but if I had to choose one source of peeve, it’s that my mother never stops talking, ever. My mother will talk from here to San Diego without taking a pause.

Today, as I drove my mother to Good Shepherd Church – I have nothing to say usually, which makes my mother’s loquacity that much more irksome, but now with this Web Design class, which really came out of nowhere, I’m all high on life with a renewed vigor. We were listening to La Traviatta in our Cadillac Car, making the turn onto Santa Monica Blvd. and I’ve got something I want to say. I begin, “You know…” and my mother shushes me.

The entire drive we speak not a word. We listen to this aria: Parigi, O Cara, Noi Lasceremo which my mother knows well. As well as I know Misty Mountain Hop, but Mom hasn’t yet tired of listening to Alfredo’s father wail his harmonious duets with Violetta, beseeching her to leave his son alone, which triggers tears in my eyes, while fueling my mother with immense joy. I drive slow and easy like a Cadillac Car should be driven. Mom puts on her makeup and visibly enjoys the mellifluous melodies as we cruise elegantly. Upon arrival I ask my mother, what are you doing after this?

My mother answers me pleasantly,after thanking me for my music selection. She says, I don’t need a ride, but…I’m going to the office and from there going to see Il Turko en Italia by Rossini. Wanna come? If you come, you can drive me and I can buy you a cheeseburger at Tommy’s afterward.

As if I need a cheeseburger to help me decide…she had me at shush.

I’m going to the Opera tonight! I’m wholeheartedly excited. I didn’t see that coming. I didn't see Web Design, Graphic Designer coming. I never see anything coming. But, Whoop, there it is!

In the end, I like the way things end. I really love music. This has been a Preface.

Intermission

2011-03-04T09:35:23Z

As Balzac would say...TIme for a little premature showing off, Jack!

After 3 weeks of class, after going from I know OF photoshop to the present day,
here are my first two personal projects. Before and Afters...


                               BEFORE                                                                                        AFTER


                               BEFORE                                                                                        AFTER

Happy Birthday Zsa Zsa Gabor! This picture was taken almost one year ago. On that April day
in 2010, I wrote a song for Zsa Zsa Gabor about Zsa Zsa Gabor, entitled Zsa Zsa Gabor:

Zsa Zsa Gabor slapped a Police man in the face    In Beverly Hills it was a misdemeanor offense.
Zsa Zsa Gabor slapped a Police man in the face   In Beverly Hills it was a misdemeanor offense.

Zsa Zsa Gabor with her big blonde hair, fur coat and diamonds
Green Acres was that Zsa Zsa or was it her sister Ava?

Zsa Zsa Gabor slapped a Beverly Hills Police man in the face...darling

Act Two

2011-02-28T20:48:52Z

Longest Letter continues witht the Second Act...

Most recently, Chepe commissioned Flibby to build him a redwood deck behind his house. Throughout the month of January, Flibby was often over Chepe’s house building. We rocked out many times for a few weeks during that time – we usually rehearse once a week, and have had weekly practices for 14 months now. We never played together before November 2009.

In addition to transforming the rear wall with one small window into full length glass French doors with a metal outer gate, linking the master bedroom to a large deck with an unobstructed view of the houses on hills in the distance with the IE and daily sunrise behind; Flibby single-handedly built the Stairway to Heaven/Highway to Hell (I documented from start to finish with my camera) – one wooden stairway leading down to the band room art studio with large canvases of paintings in progress covering every inch of wall, second stairway leading up to the roof: from where we smoked a fat joint after band practice one night in January, the night the Stairway to Heaven was completed. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was January 12^th and in Brooklyn it was nearing midnight. My sister the lawyer lives in Brooklyn. The 13^th of January is her birthday.

So after Flibby had finished his wood work that day, we rocked out for an hour; we ran through our 29 song set, if you include Flibby’s 5 songs. Our songs are short, 2 minutes or less. We are always amazed every time we play; how long it feels since last we played, even if it’s been only 3 days. We are always amazed at how long our songs seem, how much better we sound each time we play, as if scaling a new plateau; reflexively high-fiving each other between songs; imbibing the crescendos, contrasts, resonance and simultaneous pauses, known as Rests in the music world. Flibby too writes his own songs and sings. I write my own songs and sing them, but my show is solo acoustic – the same Yamaha acoustic I’ve owned since 1983.

In November 2009, when we first started playing together, we traded off instruments. Chepe and I played guitar bass and drums; Flibby played just bass and guitar. Nobody really sang. We were all learning something new and our sole motivation was filling each others’ hearts with joy. We all believe that even if our band ended today, that time spent was some of the best spent time last year. By October 2010, I was demoted to drums only, where I belong.

I’ll always remember the Stairway was completed the night the LA Clippers beat the Miami Heat here in LA. I know this because, from Chepe’s house I drove to the Staples Center to pick up my mother from the game and take her home. My mother’s had Clippers Season Tickets since 1999. We followed the 4^th quarter on line so I could time when to leave.

That night was the first time we climbed the Stairway to Heaven to the roof. Chepe had lived in that East LA house since he first bought it 7 years ago. Since getting his MFA in Art at UC Berkeley in 1993, Chepe Escondido has purchased not one, but two houses in East Los Angeles; the first he gave to his ex wife and daughters. It’s funny how teachers don’t make much money and artists make even less, but Chepe combining the two incomes, has managed to acquire so much wealth. It’s because Chepe never stops working.

If you love what you do for a living, you’ll never work a day in your life.

I’ve been back in LA, the USA for 14 months. We’d never been on the roof like that before. We were so high – 23 years since we first met; smoking pot and drinking beer since first we met, we’d never felt so high before. We started out college students, and now, Flibby is the strongest man in the world. He built the entire pine and redwood deck and stairway/highway all by his self. Flibby’s front and back yards in Rialto are incredible, low maintenance, but still fastidiously maintained, sublimely festive desert environ. All their neighbors have green lawns. That costs a lot of water! Flibby and Erica have no kids, but they’ve raised since birth nearly a dozen desert tortoises. They started out with one, then two. Chepe has three daughters.

That night on the roof, I began to feel…inadequate, for the first time since I been back, first time in my life; it hit me hard, like a bad trip, I couldn’t smoke pot for a few days. Then I could again.

The inadequacy was not in terms of home ownership or property or marriage or kids, that’s future tense for me. I’m young. I’m totally happy where I am NOW. Physically, I look better than I ever have in my life. I’m smarter than I’ve ever been. I know more than I ever have, read more books, seen more movies. I’m learning new things all the time. I taught myself to play drums in one short year. I couldn’t play drums at all a year ago, or ever. And it’s not having no job and no money that was my wake up call. It was this:

I’m a writer. I believe in myself. But even if I were popular and making money as a writer, with books in stores, I’d still be – just a writer. I’ll never be a journalist or a John Irving-esque novelist, or do anything regular or over and over again, same crud different flavor. I’m an artist. My writing is my art. I need to do something other than write and play music.

At that moment on the roof that night – I’d drunk one 20 ounce Asahi, had one shot of tequila, smoked a lot of ganja – all the lights over LA stared back at me, telling me I have to BE more. I should go back to school. I have to have some credibility or credentials or something other than life experience; some needed practical skill. I don’t really care about money or power, but credibility and usefulness is something, you know: being an adult member of society like a doctor or college professor, carpenter, chef, engineer, school teacher, trash collector. I’ve been a teacher. I know what I don’t want to do for a living. I know what I can and can not do. My cousin’s wife thinks I should go to a culinary academy, based on my holiday spreads.

I need a job where someone telling me what to do is not part of my job description and I need variety.

I’m not going to make it in music. I’m good, but I’m not that good. Coffee Pot Break is awesome. Still, trying to make it as a writer is not unlike trying to make it as an artist or musician. In any event, at that moment on the roof, I thought, I should be a lawyer, and it just made sense. For the first time in my life, I saw myself as a lawyer and I liked what I saw. It was odd, the change in thought dimension – for the first time ever, I thought: I can be really useful if I know the Law. I know it will be tough; I’ll have to give up partying for a couple of years. I’ll have to stop laughing so much, stop crying so much; give up childish things like selfish pleasures. I can do this. I’m young, I’m smart. I have a way with words. And I enjoy visual stimulation.

When we finally traversed down the Hairway to Steven (sic) and returned to the light of the studio, Chepe sensed something on my mind, cuz it was very heavy this epiphany and I’m pretty transparent. When I spoke of my revelation, I started saying, you know I’ve thought about it hypothetically, but I never EVER wanted to be a lawyer. I’m too much of an anarchist. I think people should be able to run red lights, if no other car is around. Why not! I get pissed that I can’t run a red light at night. I get pissed that lawyers are billing the State of California to research and debate whether or not gays should be allowed to marry or what their Military outage factor is; or under which circumstances marijuana should be made available when citizens can just grow it in their yards. Stuff like this makes me pissed. American pissed, not British pissed. You know I made up that line. I make up a lot of good lines. I should be writing sitcoms. That’s what I should be doing. That’s what I could be doing.

So I tell Chepe that I seriously think I should go to Law school and he gives me this big hug, which strikes me as odd cuz Chepe and I never hug. We’re really close, but we don’t hug. Flibby and I neither. Chepe responds, “I’ve been waiting so long to hear you to say that.” I think that is strange, nonetheless reassuring. Flibby tells me being a Lawyer is in my blood, on account of my Mom. Flibby’s done small repairs and additions in our condo. Flibby and my Mom and Erica and Chepe all get along well. Chepe recently commented to me that he should bring his daughters over so my Mom can meet them. Mom held a little luncheon in our home for Erica after she got her US citizenship in 2002. I was in LA for that.

My brother thinks I should become a lawyer because I’m always getting into trouble so I should be able to defend myself in a court of law. I tend to agree with that. I do get myself into trouble, whether I’m trying to or not. And then afterward, I get to write True Hollywood Stories based on my antics so…In the end, I like the way things end.

I’ve enrolled in an 18 week Web Design class at West Valley Occupational Center. The class cost only $90. The teacher gave me the first book and everything I need for the first 6 weeks on PDF. The class started Monday 2/14, Valentines Day and I love every minute of it: 4 days a week, 4.5 hours each class. I’m learning Photoshop, then Flash, then Fireworks. I haven’t been on the receiving end of a classroom in a long time, forgot how fun it can be.

I currently own the culturebookmmx.com domain. If you log onto it, you’ll see it’s just a business card, cuz I’ve had no resources to develop it, but it’s mine to do with however I see fit – make it the first of the Culturebook Network for the new millennium: short animated sitcoms, music videos, slide shows from around the world with musical accompaniment. There are no true Interweb Networks, similar to TV and Cable networks, just yet. I have all these media plans, and NOW I’m going to learn how to make my own websites, then I’ll become a lawyer so I know how to run the show proper, like the Brits say. I’ll sort it out.

There’s one more 18 week course in the fall, more HTML and Interweb specific stuff, then I get Certification in Web Design. WVOC is part of LAUSD and we’re supposed to get a computer upgrade this year! LAUSD will be providing new computers? I won’t hold my breath. Nevertheless, I’ve got my own station – decent computer lab, not too many students, really cool ethnic mix. I like the teacher, an older bald guy really fat and unhealthy, reminds me of the shop teacher in South Park: “Don’t screw around!”

It’s interesting how if I’m with Chepe and an episode from the Simpsons, like Homer doing something or saying something pops into my head, which happens often. Right at that moment, Chepe will say the Homer line. Flib and I share simultaneous flashbacks all the time.

I still can’t get over how cheap West Valley Occupational Center is: 90 bucks – the entire year’s tuition less than $200. I can still take my mom to work, and I have the day off to work, if I can find work. When I get my student ID, I’ll probably get a bus pass and start bus/metro-ing it. I’ll really enjoy the reading time. I’ll have to adjust to reading on a bus; it always makes me queasy and uneasy. I learned how to play drums in just a year; and in that same year, I’ve also learned to live not wearing glasses for distance, so I think I can adjust to reading on a dang bus. I could always sleep. Bus travel tends to make me sleepy.

You know. I know. I have a problem with chemical intake – my big 3: pot booze tobacco. What’s so hard about saying No? I don’t know, but it is. It’s a small price to pay for having the amount of empathy that I do. And I should get some reward for being cursed with this memory. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but I think Web Design is a really good field for me right now.

My teacher said on the first day of class, “I’m not an artist, I’m just teaching you HOW to use these programs, to show you how quickly and easily you can do all this stuff. You’ll never trust a photo ever again!” It’s really cool. I can make money designing web pages and promoting my writing and hopefully make money to pay for law school, next year.

In closing, I really enjoyed taking the LSAT last Saturday morning. It was a wholly worthwhile experience for me. I did the best I could. After the test, I chatted up this young male Asian American test taker. I quipped that I’m glad I don’t have to study any more for this. He asked, How long have you been studying? 30 days, I say / He says, 6 months I’ve been studying, 6 months! Everybody here blah blah blah!

I don’t know anything about that. All’s I know is, I studied a great deal, every day, timed tests, two fat Princeton Review preparation books I checked out from the library, then renewed online. Cover to cover I worked those books: Reading, Reasoning, Logic games. I was totally prepared, but it’s a tough test, you know. Ultimately, I don’t know how I scored. They’ll let me know via the Interweb. I think I did okay, not great not terrible, but I don’t know. I have a year till I start applying, instead of right now! I can always retake the test if I did cruddy.

It can be argued…If I didn’t smoke ganja once during those 30 days leading to the test, I would have done markedly better on the test, than had I smoked during that study month. That’s probably correct. But, I definitely would have smoked after the test in celebration, and I may have even drunk! I definitely would’ve boozed with finality, gotten smashed and woke up feeling queasy and uneasy.

These days, the start of my 2^nd year back from my 13 years in Asia, I visit the house of my good friend St. Tommy and his wife and daughters weekly. Going to St. Tommy’s place is like going to the County Fair: kids running around, dogs, rabbits, dtree swing, tree house, back house. Saint likes to build stuff: train sets, RC cars, backyard additions.

We usually get high when we’re together. I had told Saint that I wouldn’t be seeing him for a few weeks cuz of the test. I actually quit pot and cigs for a few days in preparation. Long before the 30 days were up, I cracked, drove to Van Nuys. We hung out, went to a computer game store so Saint could exchange games. I don’t even play computer games! I know nothing about computer games. The visit introduced to world of computer game titles that I never before knew existed. I learned that LA Clipper star Blake Griffin went to Oklahoma U cuz he’s on the cover of the NCAA hoop game, wearing his Sooners jersey; so the day was not a complete waste.

ACTUALLY, speaking of waste – one might think that going to a friend’s house to get high the week before taking my LSAT would be a waste of something…here’s what happened:

If I’d never gone to the house of St. Tommy’s that day to hang out and smoke ganja, I never would have seen the WVOC catalog on his living room table and talked at length with Saint about studying there; flipped through the class list and saw Web Design. I never would have been introduced to the WVOC. Had I not visited Saint’s house that day, the West Valley Occupational Center, never before visited by me, would not have become an integral part of my life, as it has quickly become.

And just like me getting the idea to go to Law School preceding the deadline to sign up for the LSAT by only one day; I first saw the WVOC catalogue the day before their Registration Day. My mother had, coincidentally, deposited $100 into my newly opened Chase Bank account, the day before. “I’m not going to buy weed!” I had told myself as I drove to St. Tommy’s in Van Nuys. I visited the campus the next day for the first time in my life, paid $90. BAM! I now possess direction in my life, one that I don’t foresee foregoing any time soon. And I have a 4 day weekend to prepare for week 2, followed by 16 more weeks. Then, repeat. I love the way events play out in my life, the friends I’ve known for decades and for some reason still do, the opportunities that are behind every instance, the worlds that open up to me everyday!

Web Designer, it’s not just a job, “It’s a way of looking at that wave and saying, ‘Hey bud, let’s party!’” Thank you, Spicoli for that great line, or was it really Cameron Crowe?

To Be Continued

The Longest Letter I've Ever Written -- Act One

2011-02-27T08:40:06Z

February 17, 2011

Dear Lawyer, Carpenter, Teacher, Artist, Friend, Family:

Here’s how things are NOW for me, EBravo.

You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve decided to apply to Law School next year instead of NOW. I still want to become a lawyer, now more than ever, but I’m not ready. I realize that. I’m going to need $110,000, which I don’t have, and I have zero plans to borrow money or take out any student loans, Thus, I need time to earn money and research Grant money opportunities – lots of money out there. In addition to the obvious financial factor, and equally as important, I’ll need to be able to NOT be high on ganja all the time, and have it NOT be a problem.

Funny coincidence – you know how much I prize coincidence…here’s a little story about how I quit drinking and decided to go to Law school on my Sister the Lawyer’s birthday.

A little character-based setting to create mood…

I play drums in a band, a trio called Coffee Pot Break with two friends whom I first met in Berkeley’s Barrington Hall in fall 1987. My artist pal, called Chepe Escondido in my writings, owns a huge house on a hill in East Los Angeles. It’s amazingly spacious with breathtaking views from the roof.

Over the last few years, Chepe single-handedly transformed what was once a slanted dirt hill of shrubs, his backyard, into a HUGE enchanted terraced garden full of dwarf fruit trees, herbs, vegetables, colorful ceramic pieces and homemade tile stepped paths. Beneath the house is a high ceiling in the lower level, two storey basement, inside which, Chepe has created an immaculately ordered painting and ceramic studio with paints, brushes, tools and a kiln; also, a music studio with drums, bass, guitar, amps, PA system, microphones; mike and music stands, mixer, monitors, speakers, and computerized recording equipment, all State of the Arts. The computer monitor plays South Park or 30 Rock, John Coltrane concerts or documentaries with the volume down low while we play. We can still hear Eric Cartman say, “Screw you guys, I’m getting home-schooled! and That’s a bad Phonics monkey!” Chepe records himself playing all 3 parts: guitar, bass and Roland V Drums; he sings songs he writes himself. Chepe’s songs are catchy and piercing, and they sound much better when Flibby plays the guitar part and I play the drums. We all agree on that. Flibby completes our trinity.

Almost every morning for the past three weeks, ending Tuesday, Chepe and I have managed to work in a practice, a run through of our entire set – 24 original songs; we don’t do any covers, except as a goof. We sometimes play reggae or jazz or superfast versions of our songs. Chepe sings and plays bass and handles all the equipment; I play drums only. Flibby has his own guitar: an all black Gibson Les Paul and old school amp stack, which he leaves in the studio. We sound very professional, super tight. Chepe’s baby mama is going to make a music video of us and we’re going to go viral, when Flibby returns from the place he’s currently working in Bridgeport California, doing construction work in the snow near the US Marine base where they train soldiers to fight on skis, like in the James Bond film, The Spy Who Loved Me. Flibby will return in two weeks. We are Dr. Rock, Dr. Scissors and Dr. Paper. I’m the paper.

My carpenter friend Flibby, Dr. Scissors the Tool man, full name Flibworth Thurstein in my writings, is the strongest man in the world. Flibby never graduated from Cal, or any Institute of Higher Learning. Flibby dropped out and has smoked unbelievable amounts of ganja everyday, long as I’ve known him, going back to childhood I guess. Flibby does and has done the same job everyday that he’s done since 1990, only now legit and certified, with a house, a truck, and more tools than you’ve ever seen. Flibby was the first person I know in my age group to get married, 15 years ago, and buy a house with his own money. He still lives in the same house in Fontana with his wife, named Erica, who is very similar to me, according to Flib. It’s scary sometimes, the coincidences.

Flibworth Thurstein and I are as close as two men can be to each other without being sexual. Chepe and I have the same relationship, but different roles. In SKorea, they would both be my hyung. I’d never call them by name, only Hyung, if we were Korean. Chepe and Flibby have known each other since Barrington Hall Berkeley1987 but have only become close over the last 7 years, in my absence, since they are both avid horticulturalist homeowners who like to work in their yards, create stuff and take coffee pot breaks. Chepe is Dr. Rock, cuz he’s a pot yielding ceramicist; and cuz he’s the most foundation worthy of us, with three daughters: each named for the Earth, Tonatzin, the Moon, Luna, and the Sun, Sol: the original Trinity.

The three of us Doctors of Music lived in Fiction house together after two and a half years of Barrington Hall. After which, I moved to LA where Chepe had recently returned. Flibby moved to Genoa house in North Oakland, which, if you follow Berkeley/Oakland punk rock history, is pretty legendary. Genoa House is currently owned and operated by John Benson-hurst, Barrington Old Member/Activist. Flibby lived in Genoa’s 2^nd storey backhouse, which he pimped out with raised ceiling, wood burning stove, wide wooden 2^nd storey deck, and a long narrow wooden footpath hovering across the large backyard lawn in a downward slope, leading from the 2^nd storey deck to the house’s main floor deck. Flibby lived at Genoa for 5 years before moving to the Inland Empire, buying a house in Fontana, marrying a woman after knowing her only 2 weeks, a 20 year old ganja smoking Mexican beauty who grew up in Germany and is fluent in English, German and Spanish. That was 1995, when I lived by myself in my Hollywood bungalow on Cahuenga up near the Bowl. The only party I ever threw was, coincidentally, the week after they got married. I was as surprised as everyone. They came over all festive, and then at the party’s end, instead of cleaning, I returned with them to their new house and spent the rest of the weekend in Fontucky.

Flibby’s mom is of Mexican descent, Chepe’s parents are both Mexican, Erica’s Mexican. What’s up with all the Mexicans?

Anywho, Flibby is the strongest man in the world. Flibby tells me that I must have the mental will to be able to enjoy a beer or two or a shot of tequila, and then stop thinking about booze. Over the last 23 years, Flibby’s gone for months, years at a time without drinking; then he’ll drink, a lot sometimes, but never excessively. “Just control it,” he tells me. Chepe’s the same way. Chepe’s got bottles of tequila, seldom seen brands de Jalisco, that remain in cabinets in his studio for weeks, months. I can’t do that. Did I do that? Chepe smokes weed almost every day, and lots of it. They both grow legally, doctor’s prescription. I was turned down for one!

Apparently, all you have to do is say you’re an LAUSD teacher and they’ll give you one. Carpenters get them for their backs. And they can have up to 4 plants. Chepe and Flibby have amazing harvests with just 4 plants or fewer; they are both skilled agriculturalists. Chepe gets more done in a day than any person I’ve ever met in my life; his yard is like a produce isle, exotic fruits ripe for the picking. Flibby’s first alarm clock goes off at 3:40 am; he enjoys praying with Manny Mota, Patron Saint of Pitch Hitters, at 4:20 before sunrise. Flib often drives to San Diego, works a full day, then drives to Chepe’s for band practice, picks up a few burritos to go at nearby Los Portrillos Taco Truck, then drives home to his wife in Fontana.

Flibby offered me a beer the day after I took my LSAT at band practice. I thought: It’s either the beer or the chip.

I wear around my neck, one of my father’s old 30 day sobriety chips from AA. I started wearing the White plastic chip on this silver chain I wear – a chain that originally came from my grandmother Marina in Lima Peru, my mom’s mom. I started wearing the pearly chip the morning I took my LSAT, which coincidentally was 30 days after my sister’s birthday, the day I quit drinking, the day I decided to go to Law School. I’m hoping to earn then wear the Green 60 day chip, then the Red 90 day chip, and so on till I run out of chips. My dad went to AA back in the 80’s. My father never really quit drinking, but he did earn himself a few chips in the process. Several chips of various colors now reside here in dad’s old jewelry box with his cufflinks and tie clips, here on his old table in his old bedroom, which is now my room. It’s the place I spend the bulk of my time not sleeping. It’s also the only place I’ve slept since November 2009. I’ve never been to AA, except for 10 times in 1994, through coercion by the California Penal system. I hope AA doesn’t mind me using their chips.

Not drinking is the best thing I’ve done for myself in a long time. I feel great. And it has been a lot more difficult than I let on. I have a 3^rd LA friend named St. Tommy who lives in the Valley, whom I first met in Beverly Hills back in 1984.

Saint Tommy lived with his mommy in the building next to me and my family. I was in high school and Saint was 21, able to buy beer. We never drank the hard stuff. We were in competition to see who was the poorest on the block, to see who could have the most fun with the least dough. St. Tommy has been good about counseling me lately about the mental addiction that is so strong. St. Tommy was a heavy boozer who quit in 1991, the year I returned to LA from Berkeley. St. Tommy too, coincidentally, returned to LA in 1991, from Santa Cruz California, after years away. In 1995, Saint came by my Hollywood bungalow on his Honda Gold Wing with a votive candle and a sack on ganja, on his way to Griffith Park for a gathering, the night Jerry Garcia died. I stayed home, listened to the Grateful Dead's American Beauty album and smoked crack.

The truth that one day in the future I’m gonna get drunk, that’s enough for NOW. That’s what I did with crack. Right now, I don’t feel like drinking, nor do I feel like waking up hurting. I can NOT drink socially and within reasonable limits no matter how hard I try. I don’t mind that some people can while I can not.

People are made as they are for a reason. Dime con quién andas y te diré quién eres.

Enough setting, here’s the story of HOW and WHY I decided to go to law school:

TO BE CONTINUED another day

Happy Lunar New Year 2011 MMXI

2011-02-04T21:29:37Z

I've been back in the USSA now for 13 going on 14 months, my first full year back here since 1995. I'm reminded of that Minutemen song from 1984.

As I look over this beautiful land, I can't help but realize that I am alone.

Why am I able to waste my energy? To notice life being so beautiful?

What of the people who don’t have what I ain’t got? Are they victims of my leisure?

To fail is to be a victim To be a victim of my choice

Maybe partying will help -- D.Boon and the Minutemen

In a country where a guy can’t see a doctor without insurance cuz it’s just too damned expensive; In a country where you can’t drive a car without insurance cuz you might hurt somebody, but you don’t need to purchase insurance to operate a shotgun or a handgun or a crossbow;

In a country where people are jailed for growing marijuana plants or selling marijuana seeds, where citizens actually voted NOT to legalize marijuana, but still condone Pharmaceutical Companies advertising drugs on Network TV, drugs that combat erectile dysfunction or other common ills: drugs with side effects which may include drowsiness, shortness of breath, difficulty in urination due to enlarged prostate, blindness, kidney or liver failure – drugs NOT available without a prescription, and due to their prohibitive cost, NOT without my health insurance; In a country where

Costly illnesses trigger about half of all personal bankruptcies, and most of those who go bankrupt because of medical problems have health insurance, according to findings from a Harvard University study to be released Wednesday.” from Medical bills Make up Half of Bankruptcies Associated Press 2/2/2005

In a country where drugs are prescribed by Medical Doctors to Youths who show excessive spirit; in a country where Supermarkets and Sundry Stores stock on shelves: mood altering chemicals to consume if you can’t sleep or don’t want to sleep, or if you are sick constipated anxious depressed, or if you want to lose weight or gain weight or whatever your ailment, there is a chemical remedy, a synthetic compound liquid capsule tablet caplet cream suppository spray or tincture, created in a laboratory – monkeys and rabbits probably first sampled the drugs to make sure they were safe – wrapped in appealing pink colorful packaging, sold retail in stores and online via large corporations Who through lobbying and financing the election and reelection of government representatives, control the US government: senators and congress people who end up on boards of Pharmaceutical and Insurance Companies, thus share the sweet profits made selling drugs and health care to the American people, while remaining totally cool with the fact that they’re cutting people off, just to make a buck;

In a country where a person can’t grow marijuana legally without a prescription and even then, he or she will be blacklisted by his or her neighbors; in a country where you can’t even enjoy a joint in a concert venue like LA’s Nokia Theater or Doug Weston's famous Troubadour, while your favorite rock band plays;

In a country where almost every native born man or woman over the age of 55 is on some kind of regular ‘medication’ or legal drug; in a country where a major percentage of the population is decadently overweight, borderline diabetic with high blood pressure and/or heart liver kidney back thyroid problems, yet still produce consume expend excessive amounts of time money energy and resources, creating and supporting Home Shopping Ginny Kraig (sic) Thighmaster Gutbuster Weightwatcher Health Club Spa Nutrisystem New You Lap Band Miracle Drug Industries, trying to lose weight and get healthy while still eating drive thru takeout and disposable Doritos;

In a country where, We’re never ever going to run out of clean water and power and stuff is the national mantra, In God we trust;

In a country where cigarette smoking had always been tolerated, unlike gays and minorities, where everywhere you looked, Cigarettes! On busses on planes, at Ball Games, in offices, in restaurants and bars and cars and often in the hand of Maxwell Smart Agent 86 of Control, all the leading men from all my favorite 20^th Century films holding and smoking cigs which kill in a country under a cone of silence, talking into shoe phones, fighting chaos, serving meat-filled meals thrice daily: bacon sausage and egg breakfasts, ham turkey chicken sandwich lunch meatloaf dinner chili fries triple cheese burger hot fudge sundae fast food 8 cylinder petrol gas powered sport utility vehicles that consume, consume, consume;

Save room for dessert!

In a country like this…I don’t ever want to live…again! Or do I? It’s tough making tough decisions. I sure am grateful to God and thankful to my Mom and Dad for deciding to journey all the way from Lima, Peru and settle here in the City of Angels, thus, allowing me to grow up In a country like this…

God Bless AmERICa!

BRAVO

At the Ball Game

Go Team USA!

Culturebook MMX -- now FOR SALE online

2011-01-21T17:58:24Z

                                              Front                                                                                                  Back

These are the jacket covers of my latest book Culturebook MMX: My Youth in Asia 1996 to 2009
The full name of the book does not appear on the cover YET. This is the First Edition, only 500 copies
are in print. The FULL TITLE will appear beginning with the next publication, which will be available
as soon as the 400 or so remaining copies of the original are sold. The current Culturebook MMX
now available is the unexpurgated, unedited version -- 275 pages with 2 pages of maps for setting.

ALL subsequent printings will be the edited version, much shorter and cleaner, or so my editor tells me.

http://culturebook.livejournal.com/2010/08/13/ Here is a link to view the Table of Contents and first
few pages. There are some earlier edits of various selections to be found on my blog as well.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=110638749773  THIS is a link to BUY the book
on EBAY. I'll put your copy(ies) in the mail, the day after (or maybe the same day as) I receive your money
in the Paypoint account. Shipping time is app. 3-4 days in the US, 5 - 7 days International.

Culturebook MMX is BOOK TWO of a Trilogy, already written. Culturebook MMX, the original unedited version,
never more to be reprinted as is, will be available UNTIL all copies are sold. Thereafter, the
new and improved Culturebook MMX: My Youth in Asia 1996 to 2009 will be available for purchase.

BOOKS ONE and THREE should be available by Springtime. Like BOOK TWO, the others are currently
being edited and revised by someone other than me, someone who appears in the BOOK TWO, and is a
member of the infamous Bravo Fold. She is also from Ontario, Canukistan, aka The Great White North!

Books via Ebay cost 11 dollars + shipping. Books are actually 10 dollars, but shipping one book in the
Continental US costs $4.95. Either way, it's 15 dollars for one book. Books purchased directly from me (those of you in the LA area) cost only $10 if I can deliver it, or if you choose to pick it up from me. I live on the Westside.
Send me an email for postage free delivery: culturebook@yahoo.com

Ask about SHIPPING DISCOUNTS:

I can send up to 3 books to the same address for $5.00 shipping. Flat rate, $15 for one book, OR
2 books $26 3 books $36. Four or more books, please send me a email. culturebook@yahoo.com

Ask about INTERNATIONAL SHIPPING rates

International cost, excluding Canada: $13.95 for 1 - 3 books.
Total $24 for 1 book; $38 for 2 books or $45 for 3 books -- all shipping and handling included.

For Canada, I'll have to check the postage, or you can at the USPS website. It's probably much less than Asia. And probably a little more than US rates.

http://www.usps.com/tools/calculatepostage/welcome.htm?from=home_header&page=calculatepostage

All payments can be made through Paypoint. All books will be shipped USPS Priority unless otherwise specified.
All Taxes are included, the way it should be -- no hidden fees or surcharges!

Money Back Guarantee! Just send me back the book, and I'll refund your money, minus the original shipping cost.

IN ADDITION: Just to let my future customers know, all profits will go to fund my next two years of Law
School. And when/if I graduate in 2013 with a Juris Doctorate, I will do everything in my newly acquired
powers to make this World a better place. So, in a sense, buying my book is like giving to charity, paying it
forward. You can expect what goes around to come back around. And you'll enjoy my books as well.

Especially if you are considering Teaching English in Asia, which is a possibly lucrative and definitely
interesting profession, if you enjoy travel and experiencing different cultures. Or if you have any interest in
Asia. "God Bless You!"

"I didn't sneeze!"

Last chance to see the Master at MOOLA, and for FREE!

2011-01-12T09:02:03Z

The Museum of Latin American Art (MOLAA) is proud to join the Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil (MACG), Mexico City, in presenting Siqueiros Paisajista / Siqueiros: Landscape Painter.

This exhibition, the first of its kind to be presented anywhere, includes approximately half of the 150 landscape paintings that Siqueiros produced during his lifetime. “This is the most significant exhibition of Siqueiros to be seen in the last ten years,” stated MACG Director and exhibition curator Itala Schmelz. “It is the result of more than three years of collaboration that included the precedent-setting gathering of artwork from more than 20 different museum and private collections in Mexico and the U.S., scholarly research by Christopher Fulton and additional research by a team of nine talented catalogue essayists.”

As a prominent painter and political activist, David Alfaro Siqueiros (1896 -1974) was an integral member of the Mexican School of Painting along with Diego Rivera and José Clemente Orozco. He continues to be viewed as one of the most important Mexican artists of the 20th century although his artistic influence spread far beyond Mexico’s borders.

Siqueiros organized artists in both Mexico and abroad to promote the idea of creating collective works. At the beginning of the 20th century, under the protection of Mexico’s Secretary of Public Education, he created his first decorative mural. He advocated using art as a political tool and thought that mural art should be used as a public service for el pueblo (the community). As an active member of the Mexican Communist Party, Siqueiros fought as a colonel in the Mexican Revolution and again in the Spanish Civil War. He also fought for the rights of laborers and on several occasions his political activities put him in jail and even led to exile.

Featuring a selection of the most important landscape paintings and drawings, the exhibition reveals Siqueiros’ dynamic vision of futuristic cities, allegorical places and the environment. Utilizing an explosive color palette and experimental techniques, the landscape imagery is charged with the emotions of creation and destruction always present in the art of Siqueiros. “Traditionally landscape paintings offer views of idyllic vistas, but these landscapes offer scenes of a troubled world,” said MOLAA Senior Curator, Cynthia Mac Mullin. “The gathered works poignantly emphasize Siqueiros’ concern for humanity’s inability to serve its fellow men.

Moola will be showing the work of Siqueiros until Sunday, January 30, but thanks to Target Stores, this Sunday January 16th will be FREE ADMISSION. In addition, the second Thursday of each month is also FREE, so January 13th is also free from the hours of 5 to 9 in the evening.

The Museum of Latin American Art (MOOLA) is located at 628 Alamitos Avenue, in the city of Long Beach, and is open everyday except Mon and Tues. and the content of this blog was taken directly from the MOOLA website. The photos you see will probably NOT be in the exhibition since this exhibition will concentrate more on Siquieros' landscapes. BE THERE OR BE SQUARE!

MMXI equals 2011

2011-01-06T12:31:24Z

MMXI began last week. 새해 복 많이 받으세요! Feliz año Nuevo! Happy New Year! That’s it for me. Three languages: Korean, Spanish and English. I can functionally communicate en tres idiomas. That’s all right for 42 years young.

St. Tommy's 3 bunnies: Blackie, Whitey, and Albondigas

The Year of the Hare begins on the Lunar New Year this year, 2011, the first new moon of the year; and that will happen on Thursday, February 3^rd. We still have a full moon to look forward to before that, on January 19^th two weeks hence. I know this on account of my Calendar, which was made by Chepe Escondido and features his artwork on the page opposite the dated column of month at a glance. The calendar’s cover is a print taken from a drawing/painting of the female adult love in Chepe’s life, a 1980 Monkey, who is quite lovely, and IS The Saviour; or is it, she IS from El Salvador? I can never remember. Chepe makes his calendars on an industrial printer in his home studio, and he sells them. It’s quite a racquet (sic) Chepe’s got.

As far as New Year's Resolutions go, mine is to be nicer and more personable to people. One would think that drinking or smoking cigarettes – the curtailing of these harmful habits – would be at the forefront of my future promises to myself, since I am such an avid abuser of both.

Chepe Escondido, back in October, made it a point to take me aside and say, just for the record, that he really wished I would just quit smoking cigs once and for all. When people get a certain age, they know people who have died from lung cancer, and that changes everything. Flibby and his wife, both big time cigarette smokers when they tied the knot back in 1995; they both quit smoking cigs on Flibby’s 30^th birthday back in the late 90’s and they’ve never gone back. I read Alan Carr’s book. I agree with Carr 100%; but I can’t quit, and there’s a lot more evil in the world than me having a drink or a smoke once in a while. Plus, I’ve got genetics on my side. My father smoked packs a day for 50 years, and on his deathbed, he was still 100% cancer free. So, I got that going for me; and I eat very well. THIS is my dinner tonight.

Made from raw potatoes, onion, garlic, carrots, green peas, olive oil, salt, red and black pepper, and a bay leaf, with some select spices.

It’s basically the Anderson’s Split Pea, but homemade. That’s gotta cure everything.

What do I aspire to be? I wanna be Dean Martin. I wanna be Frank Sinatra. I wanna be Sammy. I never saw them without a drink in one hand and smoke in the other.

This is my story and I'm sticking to it. I’m from Los Angeles, born here in 1968, raised here, went to college in Berkeley in 1986, met Chepe and Flibby there; moved back to LA in 1991, moved to Taegu South Korea in 1996. I spent the next 13 years and change living and working in Asia. In 2003, I lived near the city of Cheongju and first met R. R loaned me a Dean Martin CD and I lost it, the same night I lost my bass guitar. The CD was in the case.

In November 2009 I returned to LA and quickly started up a band with Chepe and Flibby. Since then, I’ve written 3 books, possibly 5 depending on the final delivery. I’ve published one, Culturebook Book Two, and it’s selling briskly, slowly, getting there. I know what I'm doing. I know where this is going.

It’s officially the Epiphany, January 6^th, the Feast of the Maji.

I'm drunk. I’m smoking cigarettes. I’m at my computer. My mom is in Lima, Peru visiting her 99 year old dad, who’s really just her stepfather, but that makes no difference in her devotion to him, or his love for her.

I’m listening to John Coltrane’s My Favorite Things album in a loop. It’s on my computer. I never bought the album.

I just acquired it from a friend's computer library. It’s like back in the day, if I cassette recorded a friend’s record album -- it's really no different, except I 'recorded' it onto my computer, so it plays on my laptop speakers while I type onto my laptop. I’ve been listening to these same four songs:

My Favorite Things / Everytime We Say Goodbye / Summertime / But not for me; since May 2009 when I first uploaded them. This is my go-to album while I work. Especially the 11 minute 31 second Summertime, with the extended drum solo, which segues into drums with bass, and later piano thrown into the mix. Elvin Jones’ drum work is pretty phenomenal. Steve Jones played the upright bass, but he’d get replaced by Reggie Workman in years to come. I know that cuz Chepe owned that John Coltrane lineup on a VHS cassette back at Berkeley. My Favorite Things was not only the first of many Coltrane CDs that Chepe purchased back in Berkeley in 1989, but that album originally came out in 1960, the year R was born. Or was it 1959? I can never remember.

I’ve listened to this Coltrane album often over the last year, usually at home. I spent the better part of 2010 in my room with the TV off, working on the Culturebooks. For the last year, at night, if I drank, which I did about once a week on average, I put on The Who or Exile on Main Street or Wings Band on the Run. I listen to a lot of the same music. And I’ve recently realized that I don’t really like jazz, as much as I like John Coltrane and McCoy Tyner and others like them. Like the Rat Pack.

Tonight, driving home, I listened to one of my favorite CDs, again, one which I pirated off the net and then put onto a CD. It’s got the best of Frank, Deano and Sammy.

Tonight, driving home, I had $5.50 so I visited Frank’s Liquor on Santa Monica Blvd in West LA just West of the Mc Donald’s, near Beverly Glen, where my brother lives. It was too late to visit my brother, but it wasn’t too late to stop at Frank’s. Frank’s charges $5.50 after tax for a pint of Popov brand Vodka, which comes in a plastic bottle.

My brother never shops at Franks, but he knows OF Franks and we both laugh at it cuz we are reminded of Frank Lopez from Scarface. “So you wanna dance, Frank, or do you wanna sit here and have a heart attack?"

My brother keeps on his home mantel a series of framed photos of family members. With all of us, is Tony Montana, like he’s one of us.

On March 31, 2010, Southpark first aired their Medicinal Marijuana/KFC episode where Eric Cartman plays a Tony Montana character illegally importing KFC from Kentucky into Colorado and Scarface is parodied. The KFC Colonel plays the Alejandro Sosa character. “Don’t fuck me, Eric!” replaces “Don’t fuck me, Tony.” Jaime Oliver is the witness Eric is supposed to assassinate, but doesn't, starting the war that is the film's climax. I rewatched this episode tonight online.

I remember first watching this episode, the night it aired, at my brother’s house on Beverly Glen back during the dialysis days when I'd spend time with my nephew while my brother was at the clinic. Because my bro has Tevo, I recorded the episode as I watched it and over the next few days, rewatched it several times with my nephew and various other people. I had not seen that episode since April 2010. It’s almost April 2011. I’m almost 43 years young. And Eric Cartman is still is force to reckon with.

Achievements like TeVo and Cable Tv

2011-01-05T09:57:05Z

This was originally a letter to my bandmates. It's called evolution, people. Get used to it. Science.

Hope your last few days have been productive and wholesome. I know they have been!

ME, I'm doing my best. YOU, you've got it down to a science. You get up every morning.

Regardless. Here's an analogy that I'm going to try out for this year.

Jack London -- you may know him from Jack London Square and Oaktown history and shit. Or from his books. We saw that cat getting chased by a giant rat at Jack London Square at 4 am. That is, Chepe and I saw that crazy shit on speed one night, cruising in my 87 Mercury, smoking a bowl at the JLS.

JL started working young and by age 11 was on ships and by age 15 had his first real date and was all awkward, like it is for most 15 year olds, but for him, it was like Olmos in American Me, cuz JL had been on ships for 4 years with sailors, pulling into ports and getting drunk and he was like this man/child. Point is, by the time JL was an adult, he had a regimented schedule. Every morning, between 5 -6, whenever he got up, he made a pot of coffee and made sure to write at least 5 pages of new material.

Anyway you look at it, that's over 1500 pages of new material a year, in addition to whatever else he did that day. And he was farmer, carpenter, hunter guy; not a layabout sluggovid, to quote Monty Burns.

Yer like that. Yer so productive. I wanna be like that.

I spent the last 7 weeks rehabilitating my bro, going to the market for him, etc. I drove him to UCLA on Monday at 4:50 am. I'm going to do it again Friday. Thing is, when I hang out with him, it's cool you know, but we watch SO MUCH TV. He watches games. Tonight/Today, he/we watched the Sugar Bowl, football, Ohio St. Buckeyes vs. Arkansas Razorbacks (that's a hog and Ohio won ); before that San Antonio Spurs against the New York Knicks at Madison Square Garden in NYC. Spurs are the team to watch in the West this year, after the Lakers. NY won. The crowd was on their feet for the final minutes. Spike Lee AND Woody Allen were in the crowd.

And then after that, we watched the Lakers play the Detroit Pistons. All games were Tevo'd so commercials were forwarded over for optimum game time. We played Scrabble as well, as fun, but no one won, on account of a disqualification (long story) and I got nothing done. Hanging with my bro would be cool on occasion, but it's been daily for endless and NOW in 2011, the year of the HARE, my bro is doing so well, I don't have to go to his house at all if I don't want. I visited St. Tommy today. I washed my car today at Saint's. And I got my tire fixed.

I'd been driving with a nail in my tire for the last 2 months, pumping it up every 4 days. Did I do that?

If you can jam it up Wednesday night, Chepe, a little bass and drums action let me know, or if Thursday is better, then it is. Friday is not good for me, and the weekend is too far away to gauge. Been trying out new shit. Been listening to a lot of old 70's funk stuff and progressive rock like Rush and Jethro Tull and the Melvin's tape Flibby left me. And Abbey Road by the Beatles.

There are TWO here comes the sun songs on that album. One is the Harrison classic, the other is the Lennon, Here Comes the Sun KING Also, That Maxwell Silver Hammer is a murderer. He first kills Joan, the quizzical, metaphysical science student girl. Next he kills the teacher; finally, he kills the judge. That's rather macabre. Still...

I want to give YOU your next bass lesson, Chepe. You are ready.

Dude, you've progressed so much in such little time on bass. Remember when you used to use

a pick EVERY TIME you played? Seems like a long time ago. And you sing and play bass, which as I've said, puts you in an elite category: with Paul Mc, Geddy Lee, Jack Bruce, John Doe and Sting.

Time to move it up to the next level. If I'm gonna be Copeland, then you gotta be Sting.

POLICE and thieves in the street Oh yeah,

I'm talking about AARON Copeland, by the way, and by Sting, I mean the Robert Newman, Paul Redford movie of the same name. The Part II ended up in Potosi, Bolivia -- the most altitudinous city in the Western Hemisphere, almost a mile above sea level. I was there. It was high, as was I.

I still haven't seen Waiting for Superman. Was on my way to Pasadena today but

ran into problems with time. May go see White Swan, or is it Black Swan? It's really

Swan Lake, but not really. It's an Aronofsky film and I've seen all of his films: I have all of his films on my computer; I have seen each NUMEROUS times. In Manali, India, during a 7 day rainstorm, I hosted a screening on my laptop for 20 or so of us, of THE WRESTLER with that cap wearing guy from 30 Rock as an ex wrestler. It's a bit part. I've never seen ANY of Aronofsky's films in the theater or on a big screen. I really want to. I may even be misspelling the dude's name, but DAMN I love his films: Pi is brilliant, as is Requiem.

The Swam Showing costs 5 dollars; more than the Pasadena movie, but it's only in Culver City.

Funds for gas are at an all time low. I need a job.

"Get a job in a gas station!"

RU EPILEPSY? Do you remember the film you bought at Vidiots in Santa Monica called Chameleon Street? Do you remember that that film changed our lives? Have you read the Call of the Wild, Chepe? I'll be Flibby has.

Writing is fun. Chepe Escondido is a pretty prominent character in my work. As is Flibworth Thurstein, aka, Flibby, I'm currently looking for an editor. I think Culturebook should be a 5 book series. Book Two MMX is too long. Chepe is main in One and Two and YOU can expect the Behind the Music episode / installment in times to come. "He was snorting whole rocks up his nostrils!" ...when we come back, HOW CHEPE went from entrepreneur to KING of the HILL. MMM HMM And how Flibby banged his babysitter.